The Hidden One
by Gracie2
Summary: SG-1 has found god - and everybody wants a piece of him.


The Hidden One  
  
by Gracie  
  
paintbyletters@hotmail.com  
  
Category: Science fiction, Action/Adventure, Angst.  
  
Rating: Mature - mild language, disturbing scenes.  
  
Pairings: No. Teensy bit of S/J in a couple of scenes, but this is not an S/J fic.  
  
Spoilers: References from seasons one through four up to D&C, big ones for 1969, Legacy, and, in the Epilogue, for Pretense and Serpent's Venom.  
  
Summary: SG-1 has found God - and everybody wants a piece of him.  
  
Author's notes: important. All the Earth-based equipment mentioned in this fic really does exist and works pretty much the way I've described them. (At least I hope they do.) I have taken some liberties with their capabilities - especially the infrared scanner whose performance I've really beefed-up. (This is science fiction, after all. ") I therefore ask you to suspend belief for the sake of the story, just like you do with the whole concept of wormhole travel.  
  
The Heliopolis mentioned in this fic is not the one that Earnest arbitrarily named in Torment of Tantalus, but the historical one where the gods of Egypt held council.  
  
This fic goes into quite a bit of Goa'uld history, biology and ship spec. All this is the product of my imagination rather than canon, so, depending on how seasons five, six and any subsequent movies turn out, this might have to become classed as an AU fic. - I'm just covering all the bases, here. ")  
  
Disclaimer. Stargate SG-1 et al is not mine. I only pretend to own it. And I only pretend to have scads of money that I pretend to make off of pretending to own it. "/  
  
In other words:  
  
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.  
  
Acknowledgements, along with the usual plea for feedback will follow at the end of the story.  
  
***  
  
  
  
Prologue  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
God was lonely.  
  
He slouched against his gilded throne and contemplated the unchanging scenes painted on the walls before him: Heru'Ur, Nirrti, Apophis, Cronus, Seth, even Ra himself, paying homage to the Great Maker. Let the others fight endlessly amongst themselves over territory, it was of no consequence to him. No matter who claimed title to worlds and peoples, was not all of it in reality, his? Did he not come and go as he pleased, always and everywhere being well-received, yes, even adulated by his peers? He had no enemies - who would dare be anything but a friend to the Creator of the gods? And power, more even than Ra himself. Had the counsel of the gods at Heliopolis not acquiesced to his demand and bestowed upon him the title of "Amon," King of the gods?  
  
' "Thus it is said of Ptah, and recognized and understood; that he is the mightiest of all the gods." '  
  
So it had been decreed.  
  
The other System Lords gained power and influence through brutal conquest. Amon-Ptah's power was the result of his benevolence, from generously giving his brothers what they thought they wanted, whenever he decided that they wanted it. They depended upon Amon-Ptah to furnish them with the means to continue their power-struggles. It made him the most sought-after, the most needed, the most powerful of them all. What more could a god want?  
  
A shovel would be nice. Or, rather, a thousand shovels.  
  
A thousand slaves with a thousand shovels digging for a thousand days. This was the scenario he envisioned as he regarded the beautiful fresco on the wall: all the gods who would gladly kill each other for the prestige of finding the Hidden One.  
  
He had long ago invented a cover-story explaining his absence; this was nothing less than a test by the Great Maker, Amon-Ptah, who had given much to his children. Now, how would they use these gifts? The god that managed to find where Amon-Ptah had concealed himself would be richly rewarded. Yes, that would work.  
  
And, it was not so very far from the truth. He really had hidden himself, and it really would be a test of skill and intelligence for the one finding him, to extract Amon-Ptah from this place. That Goa'uld really would be rewarded, with technology that far surpassed anything the Great Maker had shared with them thus far.  
  
He frowned when his gaze fell on Sokar's image. Well, perhaps it would not work with all of them. That Devil-god had fallen out of his favor, claiming that he should share the title of Amon equally with Ptah.  
  
True, Sokar produced ingenious tools forged in the fire, but the process was excessively cruel and a waste of perfectly good minds. His creations came about at such high cost in skilled Goa'uld and slaves that finally the artists and crafts gods had called out to the council for justice: to Thoth, the Great Judge, to Osiris and to Isis, King and Queen of the jurisdictional districts of the Goa'uld, and to Ptah, the Amon, and Creator of the gods. And so, by decree of the council, Sokar had been banished to the far western quadrant of the Goa'uld's realm, and Amon- Ptah's title remained his alone.  
  
Amon-Ptah sighed. The King of the Underworld would love to see him in this place. Sokar would most certainly leave him here for eternity and take the title and power of Amon in his absence, if he hadn't already done so.  
  
Never a great fan of irony, Amon-Ptah found that there was little else to contemplate these days. He had plenty of time to appreciate all its subtleties. Originally, he had brought his people to this place in order to build a ship - one superlative to any that the other gods would ever possess. The politics of his brothers were becoming more complicated, more dangerous. His experience with Sokar had shown him the wisdom of a backup plan, in anticipation of the day when other System Lords would try to usurp him. Now, not only were he and Sokar on philosophically opposing sides, but they were physically separated on opposite sides of the galaxy as well; Sokar, banished to the west by the judgment of Heliopolis, Amon-Ptah, banished to the east, by his own misjudgment.  
  
He had thought himself to be so cunning, but ultimately, the planet on which he'd hidden proved ill-chosen. It was well outside Goa'uld territory, and abandoned by the mighty alliance of the Asgard, the Furling and the Nox. A thin layer of charged particles in the planet's troposphere interfered with communications outside its atmosphere, further assuring secrecy in case some devious System Lord had planted a spy in Amon-Ptah's ranks. It also made a call for help impossible.  
  
What was more, the planet itself exerted a negative influence on his naquadah-based technology. Had not Sokar warned him that he put entirely too much trust in that mineral? It irked him no end that his old enemy had been right.  
  
He snorted derisively at his self-inflicted dilemma: The very same stone that had let him rise to power now rendered him impotent. The Great and Powerful Amon-Ptah, Sculptor of the gods and of all their toys, and with him three thousand of the finest minds in the galaxy. Yet he was unable to dig himself out of a mere hole in the ground.  
  
The slaves, succumbing to starvation when supplies had run short, had died first. Then the Jaffa. Finally, the Goa'uld underlings that refused to give up their lives for their master had been systematically executed, most in blood contests among themselves, the rest by Amon- Ptah's own hand. There was only one sarcophagus and he intended to be its sole beneficiary.  
  
Nevertheless, the loneliness aggrieved him, more even than the crushing weight of the planet. How he missed walking among his children, teaching them, watching them flourish under his direction. Now, he was a creator bereft of creatures, a god unblessed by worshipers. Today, there was but one left standing to worship him. After this day, there would be no one.  
  
Amon-Ptah considered the creature standing before him. His First Prime, ever by his side, had somehow managed to survive the harrowing period of famine and conflict, to emerge, as always, untouched and disposed to serve. He stood at attention, guarding access to his master as though some threat might still exist from which to keep him. Solitude and emptiness were the Goa'uld's only enemies now and from such things there was no protection.  
  
There was nothing left to eat, for either of them. Now, even the presence of his most trusted slave caused the Goa'uld unease. It was time to end it for this one as well.  
  
"Sen'k," he spoke in the tone he used to bestow a blessing. "You have served with valor and faithfulness. It is time for you to receive your just reward. Look into the eyes of your god."  
  
The imposing metal osprey beside Amon-Ptah stood as still as its matching stone statue. Presently, the head of the great raptor folded in upon itself to reveal the gaunt features of the Jaffa within. Eyes front, he continued to stare dully through dry, sunken sockets, apparently disregarding his Lord's command. The Goa'uld stiffened. Now that it had come down to just the two of them, would the Jaffa put his own survival above his god's? His left hand clenched around the ribbon device he wore.  
  
"What would you have me see, my lord?" the Jaffa spoke quietly, his voice steady despite his weakened physical state. "What would I see that has not been evident for a great many days now? That the creator is fading away as surely as the creature? My lord is less and less a man with each passing hour.  
  
Amon-Ptah's hands gripped the armrests of his throne and he tried to rise. "I am no mere man! I am your god!" he asserted with a roar. The emotional and physical exertions winded him, belying his words, and he sank back down into the seat. The Jaffa's one raised eyebrow betrayed his opinion.  
  
"The Goa'uld are not gods."  
  
Amon-Ptah's eyes flared. "What is this blasphemy?" he growled.  
  
The Jaffa was unfazed by the display. He finally turned his head and looked directly at his master. "Oh, Great and Powerful Amon-Ptah," he intoned, reciting a prayer that had gone up from three thousand lips day after day, since their entombment, until finally there was no one left to utter it. "You who brings all things into being with a thought and makes them live by the word from your tongue. You who, alone, possess the ear which hears. Hear now my petition and deliver me from the underworld for the sake of your glory."  
  
Those accursed words. The fire died in Amon-Ptah's eyes. It had been some time since he'd last heard them. Thoth, the god of wisdom and justice, had formed that prayer in honor of Amon-Ptah, and it had pleased the Great Maker greatly to hear its melodious intonation on the lips of slaves and gods alike. He had even come to believe the words himself. But that was before he his imprisonment in this place. Sen'k was right, a true god would have liberated his people long ago. He eyed his Jaffa. Apparently, he had not been the only one to draw this conclusion. He sat back and smiled ruefully.  
  
"Ah, Sen'k, you always were a smart one. Smart enough to see through our ruse."  
  
"You were never one to suffer a dull wit in your presence, Lord," the Jaffa responded, unmoved by the compliment. "All of your slaves knew what you are, though we never dared speak of it."  
  
"Until now."  
  
Sen'k raised, then lowered both eyebrows, the equivalent of a Jaffa shrug. "You have always valued truth, my Lord. Would you have me lie to you with my last breath?"  
  
The Goa'uld sighed and nodded in approval. "So tell me, Sen'k, if you had always known, why did the slaves not rise up against their Lord from the start?"  
  
"Your own words provide the answer. The Jaffa are a slave race. The fear of the gods has been ingrained in us since birth. You gathered the best and brightest minds about you, and even we, with all our knowledge and insight, found it unthinkable to raise a hand against you. We need you just as surely as you need us." There was no anger in his gaze, no bitterness in his words, just the resigned acceptance of a slave's position in a society of gods.  
  
The two regarded each other candidly for some time. Sen'k had seen through a ruse so long perpetuated that even many Goa'uld believed it. Amon-Ptah found his First Prime's honesty to be liberating. He felt a twinge of regret at what he was about to do. Pity they hadn't had this conversation sooner. Perhaps then he would not have felt so alone.  
  
"I grow weary of this existence."  
  
"It is time for you to return to the sarcophagus, my Lord. This time you must not re-awaken until rescue comes from one of your brothers."  
  
"You have more confidence in my brothers than I, Sen'k," the Goa'uld said dryly. "They are fools. You were right. I gathered the best and brightest around me. I fear there is no one left intelligent enough to find this accursed place, let alone rescue me from it."  
  
"Ra will not rest until he has found you."  
  
Amon-Ptah shook his head. "Ra is the greatest fool of them all. He has become vain-glorious in the extreme. It has dulled his wit. He will die at the hand of slaves."  
  
Sen'k allowed his schooled features a small smile. "A bold prophesy, even for my master. Is my Lord perhaps a god after all?"  
  
"One does not have to be a god to see that a fool will be destroyed by his own stupidity," he answered. "Consider the lowly hah'cha worm. Does it not serve the mighty cedars of Avon-Re, aerating the soil and fixing nutrients beneath their roots so that they grow to magnificent heights? But when the tree grows too mighty, does not that same worm then consume it? Would it not be a fitting end for the haughty Ra?"  
  
Sen'k's features reformed to their normal stoic look. "Whether or not he meets such an end, I will not live to see it, but you must sleep now. Deliverance will come sooner for you than for slaves."  
  
Again, the fingers of Amon-Ptah's gloved hand lightly caressed the armrest of his throne. "And you, Sen'k? You, who know me for what I am, who managed to survive when all the others failed. What do you plan on doing while I sleep?"  
  
"If I wanted you dead, you would be dead," the Jaffa assured him simply. "I live to serve, and I will die in your service."  
  
Amon-Ptah's eyes glowed with a fire that spoke to the Goa'uld's surprise and respect. "So be it, Sen'k," he said softly. "You who have out-witted Goa'uld and man alike. Perhaps you will live to see rescue. If it is to be so, then I will grant you the desires of your heart. Live, and serve me until the end of your days."  
  
  
  
The creature who would be god rose stiffly from his throne, and slowly, the frail couple made their way to the sarcophagus. Amon-Ptah set the bed of miracles to stasis mode and Sen'k helped him climb into it. As the lid of the stasis chamber closed over him, they gazed upon each other for the last time. Amon-Ptah's eyes filled with regret for his own impotence. He had no illusions that his First Prime would survive the long night until rescue arrived. Then, soft light from the sarcophagus swaddled his failing body, and lulled him to sleep - a sleep destined to last ten thousand years.  
  
***  
  
  
  
The Hidden One  
  
  
  
Scientists!  
  
SG-1 sat in the briefing room with General Hammond, watching an aerial view of the terrain on P4N-285. The world looked uninhabited around the Gate. Flat, treeless savanna stretched out over the horizon and beyond the range of the UAV's camera. The only thing breaking the monotony were the nearly perfect circles that dotted the landscape. No vegetation lived within them. Filled with what looked like gravel, some were smaller than a man hole, others measured several kilometers in diameter. Carter was droning on...and on, theorizing about the circles, saying how there was nothing of value to Earth that she could detect, no heat signatures or signs of life other than the vegetation.  
  
"So. Either you've found the home world of the infamous crop-circle aliens, or you're briefing us about a place that we have absolutely no interest in going to," Jack interrupted her. He grimaced in annoyance. Why did scientists do that anyway? Why did they feel the need to share every little new thing they discovered, no matter how boring? Not for the first time, he found himself gazing with longing at the remote control in her hand, wishing that scientist's brains were wired with some kind of neural remote of their own so that he could just fast forward to the good parts. He pursed his lips and gazed at her impishly as he tried to put down the mental image of the verbose Major's mouth in fast forward.  
  
Carter failed to suppress a grin. "Aha! I thought the same thing...about it having nothing of interest to us, that is. As a matter of fact, I was bringing the UAV home when it caught something on its return arc. I think you're going to like this, Sirs."  
  
Carter's smug tone made Jack sit up a little straighter. He knew it, she was doing it on purpose, just to bug him.  
  
"We were doing a high-altitude sweep of the area using the new, ground- penetrating infrared scanner technology we developed with the help of the Orbans. As you know, we had the UAV fitted with this new technology in the hopes that . . . ."  
  
Carter droned on some more, about heat signatures, subterranean disturbances and EM pulses. Beside him, General Hammond sighed quietly. Jack studied his second in command through narrowed eyes. She was pushing the limits today. What the hell had she found to make her this cocky? "Now, here's the good part," she said.  
  
It had better be, Jack thought dryly.  
  
She pointed her mouse at the monitor. The image froze on flat, non descript grassland. With another click of the mouse, the image changed. A mass of colors on the infrared scale from yellows to red melded together to form a familiar shape, its warm colors making it stand out from the green to black tones of its colder surroundings.  
  
Jack stared, open mouthed, along with the others, completely oblivious to Carter's mischievous grin. She loved doing that to him.  
  
"Wh.. hoa!" Jack managed to say.  
  
"That's a...." Daniel gulped in surprise.  
  
"A Goa'uld warship," Teal'c finished for his teammate.  
  
"It's so...."  
  
"....Big," Jack finished for Daniel.  
  
"It is indeed unusually large," Teal'c agreed, awestruck.  
  
Carter clicked the mouse again and a cube shaped grid overlaid the image of the buried ship. "Its area measures six hundred meters from base to pinnacle, and a kilometer on the side. It's peak is about seventy meters below the surface."  
  
"How did it get there?" General Hammond asked. "Underground like that?"  
  
"Its angle is steep," Teal'c said as he studied the garish colors splashed over the awkwardly canted ship. "It appears to have crashed into the soft terrain."  
  
Carter dismissed the idea with a shake of her head. "I don't think it crashed, Teal'c."  
  
"Then how did it get there?" the General repeated his question.  
  
"It sank, Sir."  
  
Jack blinked in surprise. "The spaceship...sank?"  
  
"Yes, Sir." She advanced the slides until she found the one she wanted. "Teal'c is right, the terrain is soft. There's no bedrock in this area, and as you can see from this image, the ship is partially submerged in an underground river. I'm guessing there weren't any geological surveys done before they set down. The ground's under structure must have been significantly eroded and the ship just sank under its own weight."  
  
"Well, why didn't they just take off again?" Daniel asked.  
  
"Good question," Jack agreed, turning to look at Teal'c for the answer.  
  
"I have no explanation," Teal'c said, looking, in turn, at Carter, who simply shrugged and shook her head.  
  
"Maybe they buried the ship themselves," Jack mused. "You know, to hide it from their enemies, as it were, 'til they could bring back a tow...ship."  
  
Carter cocked her head and nodded. "Yeah, I suppose that's a possibility, Sir, but there's something else."  
  
The view on the monitor changed to reveal the ghostly outlines of the ship's interior structures. A tight column of fire-red grew out of the base and up the center of the pyramid ship, almost to its apex - the reactor core. Points of red and orange burned in each image as Carter cycled through the images. Jack gave a low whistle of appreciation. These images were downright pristine compared to the impossibly scant image quality of IRT he had had to work with in his black ops days. Even Jack knew that Earth didn't have any kind of infrared radar technology like this. Orban was turning into one of the best allies they had found to date. Jack smiled inwardly. And all because he had taught a little girl how to have fun.  
  
"The scans don't reveal any apparent life signs. As you can see by the abundance of red and yellow, there's heat radiation coming from within the ship, indicating that it's still in some kind of working order, but there's no movement anywhere on board, which suggests --"  
  
"That the crew either died or abandoned ship," Daniel finished. "I'd say it's been there for quite awhile," he went on. "The surface looks virtually undisturbed, and with the hole a ship that size made, it would have taken a long time - at least several centuries to refill it by natural means, possibly even longer."  
  
Carter found the image she sought. The monitor showed a large room housing a long rectangular object. The object emitted a faint regular pulse that radiated the barest amount of heat. "Teal'c, is this what I think it is?"  
  
"D'oh!" Jack exclaimed in disgust. "Teal'c, please say that's not what she thinks it is."  
  
"It is a sarcophagus, O'Neill," Teal'c answered gravely. "What is more, it appears to be in operation."  
  
Sam's eyes never left the monitor. "The good news is, this is the only sign of life we've been able to detect. My guess is that whoever's in there is probably in stasis, awaiting rescue."  
  
"So...you suggesting a little "rescue mission" of our own, Major?"  
  
Sam smiled at the Colonel triumphantly. "Actually, Sir, I was thinking of a little salvage operation. Imagine! A fully equipped Goa'uld warship."  
  
~~~  
  
General Hammond was fairly beaming. He had grasped the implications immediately.  
  
"This is exactly the kind of thing we've been looking for. SG-1, you can have whoever and whatever you need to get this job done. We'll reconvene here tomorrow morning at oh-eight-hundred hours for a second debrief." The General stood, allowing the others to do the same. "Good work, Major!" he complimented the young officer warmly. "Dismissed."  
  
The General left the room for his office to apprise the President of the good news - something his Commander in Chief didn't often get from Cheyenne Mountain. Stargate Command was more often than not the source of bad news for the President, and not a few Senators were growing impatient with the increased budget demands of this one program.  
  
Opinions in Washington were divided among those whose heads were in the clouds and wanted the Stargate to become public knowledge, and those with their heads in the sand who wanted nothing more than to bury the Gate again. At least now they were convinced that the threat was real. Apophis' attack from space and SG-1's unauthorized eleventh hour rescue had put the fear into even its sternest opponents.  
  
Fortunately, cooler heads held sway at the moment. The President and the Joint Chiefs felt as George did. But the dissidents in Washington were getting increasingly difficult to manage. What the SGC needed was an advantage: something Kinsey and his kind would not want to share with an uninformed world, something that would keep the United States of America on top. A fully equipped and functional Goa'uld warship should fit the bill. If they could pull this one off ...well ...George couldn't repress his grin as he picked up the phone.  
  
"Mr. President, General George Hammond here. Sir, I have some good news for you." His smile widened. "Yes, Sir, I did say good news."  
  
__________________  
  
  
  
"What do you mean, 'no?'"  
  
SG-1 stood around the organized chaos that hid the long table in Sam's lab. It was covered in components she would need to outfit the balloon that would serve as an information and communications relay between the Gate and the ship.  
  
"I mean, 'no,' Daniel, as in 'uh-uh,' 'no way,' or maybe you'd prefer to hear it in another language. How about," Jack put his mouth over the nozzle of a helium tank. "'Nyet!'" The Russian word came out in a high squeak as Jack exhaled. Sam giggled and held her hand out to the Colonel for the tank, trying to look stern. The two officers exchanged playful glances before Jack relinquished his toy to her, moving on to handle the next interesting gadget to catch his eye.  
  
"C'mon, Daniel, stop ruining it for the rest of us," Jack chided. "Anyway, this should be right up your alley." He picked up a small wind vane and blew into one of the cups, watching it spin in his hands.  
  
Daniel closed his eyes and shook his head. "Spaceships are not up my alley," he muttered. "I don't even like spaceships."  
  
"Hey, there's nobody home but a sleeping god wannabe," Jack said. "Just think of it as, you know... a giant, sunken, temple or something."  
  
Daniel sighed. There was no use trying to talk to Jack about this now. Not with him in such high spirits, but he had the feeling that everyone around him had thrown caution to the wind. "Guys, this is serious." He turned to Sam for support. "Sam! You don't think we should leave them out of this, do you? Don't you think we're getting in way over our heads here?"  
  
"Yes to both questions, Daniel," she answered almost casually, turning back to her work. "Yes, I think we should leave the Tok'Ra out of this and," she shrugged. "Yes, I think we're getting in a little over our heads, but..."  
  
"Way," Daniel corrected her. "Way. Over. Our heads."  
  
"Think, Daniel," Jack said impatiently. "If we tell the Tok'Ra, then they'll want to take over the whole operation and we'll be left high and dry. Don't you remember what happened with Hathor's stuff?"  
  
Daniel winced. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he answered lamely.  
  
The Tok'Ra were running low on new technology. Hathor had plenty of that, including the ability to phase shift. And her base was a secret to the other System Lords, thus, a good hiding place for the resistance. And, technically, the Tok'Ra had gotten there first, with their tunnels and their operative. Daniel had simply mentioned that fact. It wasn't like he had had any real say in the matter. Nevertheless, he had always suspected that Jack somehow held him personally responsible.  
  
  
  
"Yeah, it did seem like a good idea - at the time," Jack said cynically. "And what do they do as soon as we turn our backs, hum? They pack up the whole she-bang and high-tail it outta there. And they've been shafting us ever since."  
  
Teal'c raised an inquiring eyebrow at O'Neill's latest bizarre expressions. "They had reason to believe that Heru'Ur had found them," he said, jumping to the defense of their alien friends. "Which is quite likely given the number of Horus guards on the planet. One of them could easily have been a spy. Do you not believe they are sincere when they say they will share any new technology with us?"  
  
"Define 'new,'" Jack shot back. "And just how long has it been since they packed up and left? And what have we gotten back from them?" he asked "Nothing. Zero. Zip."  
  
"What about that memory enhancing device Hathor used on us," Daniel reminded Jack. "Doesn't that count as new technology?"  
  
Jack rolled his eyes in answer. "I meant technology we could use to hurt the Goa'uld, Daniel. So far the only good stuff the Tok'Ra have given us has been good for them, bad for us."  
  
Sam looked down. "The Tok'Ra do consider us kind of...primitive," she put up a hand, forestalling another outburst from the Colonel. "Which is why I agree with you, Sir." She looked at Daniel, her eyes glittering possessively. "That ship is ours. We found it first, and I'm thinkin' that with Teal'c's knowledge and maybe...just maybe, with a little help from Jolinar, we can make that ship work."  
  
"How do you figure?" Jack asked her quietly, uncomfortable whenever the name of the dead Tok'Ra came up.  
  
"About Jolinar?" Sam looked at Teal'c. "You once told me that Jolinar led an attack against some System Lord but was defeated when Apophis joined the battle."  
  
Teal'c nodded, smiling in understanding. "That is correct, Major Carter. Jolinar was in command of a fleet of ships, you believe you can retrieve memories having to do with ship functions from her."  
  
The Major grinned back at Teal'c. "Yup. Sir, we can use the memory enhancing technology. All we need to do is get into the ship's controls. If I have the device on, Teal'c can coach me, helping me remember what Jolinar hopefully knew about ship functions. I'm sure that together we'll be able to figure it out."  
  
"So am I!" Jack asserted, loudly confident. Teal'c's smile said that he was certainly up for the challenge.  
  
"What about your father," Daniel asked, grasping at one last straw. "Couldn't he help keep the ship in Earth's possession while we benefited from the experience of Selmac?"  
  
Sam grimaced. "Daniel, much as I love my dad, he works for the Tok'Ra now - takes orders from them. Normally, I don't have a problem with that, but --"  
  
"But, this is our show," Jack said. "Look, if things get out of hand, we'll have the Tok'Ra to fall back on. But personally, I have every confidence in Carter and Teal'c." He grinned, fixing a challenging gaze on his friend. "What's 'a matter, don't you?"  
  
Daniel shrugged in defeat, recalling Lantash's warning when Apophis had been their prisoner and they thought they could hold him: "Overconfidence was their undoing O'Neill. I hope it has not become yours as well." He kept the thought to himself, having said his piece. He would go along with them and do whatever he could to help. He still had a bad feeling about this, but, 'I told you so's', if they came at all, would have to wait until later.  
  
_________________  
  
  
  
Sergeant Everett Siler sat at the briefing room table with SG units one and eleven, hiding his excitement under quiet discipline. It had helped him build a good reputation at this, arguably the most exciting military installation on the planet. His work on amalgamating Orbanian and Earth technologies into the ground-penetrating infrared scanner had boosted Major Carter's appreciation of his talents, and now, at the request of Major Carter, he was going off-world for the first time.  
  
Everett observed the easy confidence of the seven officers, four civilians and the lone alien that made up the two teams. They were old hands at this and despite the danger, the injury and even the loss their adventures sometimes brought them, it was obvious that they were impatient to get right back out there.  
  
General Hammond entered the room and everyone stood in acknowledgment of his rank. "Good morning, people," he greeted them jovially. "What have you got for me."  
  
Colonel O'Neill took his seat after the General, and the others followed suit. "Well, Sir, SG units one and eleven along with Sergeant Siler will go to P4N-285 to do some preliminary work," the Colonel said. "We'll establish long range communications with the SGC, then we will proceed to the ship and attempt to find a way in and to secure it." He pointed at the monitor showing the lightly glowing sarcophagus. "We'll start by taking out the garbage. Then Scotty, Geordi and B'Leanna here," he gestured to Everett, Teal'c and Major Carter, "will fire up the dilithium crystals. Daniel and I will re-arrange the furniture, do some light dusting, and then, well, we'll invite the President and Joint Chiefs over for a little house-warming."  
  
The Colonel's words were met with soft chuckling all 'round. The mood in this room, Everett noted, was decidedly light, almost euphoric.  
  
"Sergeant Siler and I are going to launch a tethersonde balloon equipped with monitoring equipment that will record any developments from the sky or from underground," Major Carter continued. "There'll be radio signal boosters on it so that we can stay in contact with you and a ground- penetrating, heat-sensitive scanner like the one on the UAV, so you can see us once we're in the ship. Part of SG-11 will remain at the Gate until we've put them in place, to calibrate the signals with the MALP. Data will be recorded continuously, so each time the Gate opens you can download the new information for study."  
  
"The engineering team will accompany SG-1 to the site and do a ground survey in order to determine the safest and most efficient way to retrieve the ship, Sir," Lieutenant Colonel Luke Jones, US Army Engineer Corps, and the leader of SG-11, spoke up. "I'd like to start moving as much equipment as possible through the Gate. And, I can tell you right now, Sir, this operation is going to require a lot of manpower."  
  
"How much manpower are we talking about?" the General asked.  
  
"I won't know for certain until we do a thorough on site inspection. "Jones shrugged. "Based on what we know so far, a thousand people, if we plan on getting the ship to the surface within six months." Colonel Jones pulled a sheet of paper from his folder and handed it to the General. "This is a preliminary list of specialists - engineers, draftsmen, miners and geologists - that I'd like to have on board. They're good people, Sir, I can vouch for them."  
  
General Hammond frowned. "Good or not, Colonel, this is the country's most secret facility. It'll take some time to process this many people through security. I'll see what I can do to speed things up," he assured him.  
  
"Anything else?" the General asked, "No?" His eyes took in those seated around him. "Let me tell you people, Washington is as excited as you are about this. It'll be a feather in all our caps if we do this right. P4N- 285 is a go."  
  
Everett grinned along with the others as they considered the happy implications. Only Doctor Jackson seemed not to share in the exuberance. The archeologist was staring, unseeing at his notes, clearly pre- occupied. Everett shrugged. Doctor Jackson was a hard one to figure out, sometimes. For the moment, though, thoughts of promotion and of his impending adventure competed for Everett's attention and he quickly put the civilian out of his mind.  
  
***  
  
  
  
Seven people made their way across P4N-285. The Field Remote Expeditionary Device took point, followed by SG-1, Sergeant Siler and two members of SG-11: Lieutenant Wayne Harris, their engineer, and Doctor Emma Ryder, their geologist.  
  
Rain-laden clouds scudded across the sky, soaking the land in patches and causing rainbows to appear in the pristine air all around them. Four of the planet's moons and its pale, lesser sun winked in and out of the clouds, drying the air without overly warming it.  
  
Small rodents scrambled out of the way as the humans encroached on their territory. The tough high grass was resilient and sprang up behind the FRED's caterpillar tread, forcing the group to lift their feet high to avoid tripping in the tangle. Clouds of insects, disturbed by their passage, danced excitedly about their heads and crawled all over them. Other than these, the humans saw no other evidence of life in the area.  
  
Sam walked with Emma Ryder. A sturdily-built woman, she was taller even than Teal'c. The geologist had joined the SGC three months after Sam had, and was now the only surviving member of the original, ill-fated SG- 11 unit. Like Daniel, her expertise was often required on other missions, and because of that, she was not with SG-11 either time that unit had become a casualty. Her supposed good luck lent a sort of superstitious fear to the SGC, and the new SG-11 was rarely sent off- world without her. It also tended to make the already quiet woman even more aloof.  
  
"So, what do you make of the circles, Emma?" Sam asked.  
  
Though many circles dotted the land, none were near the Stargate. After nearly an hour of walking they had yet to encounter any. The geologist's practiced eye took in her surroundings unhurriedly. "Could be sinkholes, but I can't be sure."  
  
Sam frowned. "They don't look like any sinkholes I've ever seen. I mean, they're not sunken or anything." She swept an arm over the flat, featureless plain. "I thought this would be the wrong kind of terrain for sinkholes."  
  
The geologist shook her head. "Sinkholes can be found just about anywhere."  
  
"Really?" Sam said. "I didn't know that."  
  
Ryder just shrugged, obviously not interested in exchanging opinions or theories or speculations. Sam sighed inwardly. It was a long hike to the sunken ship. Just her luck that she was stuck with the only scientist she knew of who didn't like to talk.  
  
A slight rumble shook the ground. SG-1 stopped in their tracks. "Earthquake," Colonel O'Neill said in a grunt. He looked inquiringly at Sam.  
  
"Earthquakes only happen on Earth, Jack," Daniel said, automatically correcting his friend, but he, too, looked to Sam for reassurance.  
  
Sam looked up and studied the busy sky. A fifth moon was now peeking over the horizon. "The moons might be the cause of these rumbles," she said. "Earth's solitary moon causes tidal movement on landmasses, imagine the influence all these must have here." She shrugged. "There's nothing here but grassland and the grounds' pretty flat. I don't think we're in any danger even if the 'quakes get stronger." She looked up at Doctor Ryder. "Right?"  
  
The geologist answered with a nod.  
  
"Felt like a shear wave," Lieutenant Harris said.  
  
The Colonel looked at SG-11's scientists expectantly. When neither offered to elaborate, he blinked in surprise. "Shear wave?" he prompted.  
  
"It's the name of the surface movement caused by a specific kind of quake," Harris answered. "You may have noticed that during the quake the ground seemed to roll like a wave on the water."  
  
"Yeah, I noticed that." the Colonel smiled. Apparently, neither of SG- 11's scientists wasted words. Sam knew that the Colonel could live with that. "Just the same, people, watch your step," he cautioned.  
  
~~~  
  
Four hours after leaving the Gate, the group came upon a fair-sized circle. About six meters in circumference, it looked like it had been shaped by a cookie cutter, so clean was the demarcation between grass and gravel.  
  
SG-1 hesitated at the grassy edge, but the two members of SG-11 walked confidently into the middle of the circle. Doctor Ryder bent down and picked up a handful of the stones. They were of varying shades of gray, but otherwise, not like gravel at all. These stones were uniformly round and smooth, like perfectly spherical marbles. Aside from the stones, the circle was clean - no soil or other debris was mixed in among them.  
  
"I've never seen anything like these before," Wayne Harris exclaimed as he rolled several of the stones around in his palm.  
  
"Welcome to Marble World," Jack quipped. He picked up one of the stones, examining it closely. "No cracks, no air bubbles, no chips. These babies are perfect. Anyone here ever play ringer as a kid?"  
  
Siler grinned. "All the time, Sir."  
  
"Cool!" Jack said. "Maybe we could play a little game later. Carter, you must'a played with marbles."  
  
"Yup. And I still have my best winners: Christmas trees, flaming dragons, golden rebels, supermans, tiger eyes," she listed some of her favorite marbles by the names of their designs.  
  
"Wow!" Daniel exclaimed enthusiastically. He dropped to his knees beside Jack and picked up a handful of stones. "I liked the supermans best. You got any hand-mades?"  
  
Jack raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "You played with marbles?"  
  
"I was quite good, actually," Daniel said smugly. Jack smiled. Tonight was going to be fun for a change.  
  
All the humans were in the circle now, rummaging through the alien stones like kids looking for that special, lucky aggie to add to their collection. Jack looked up at Teal'c. The Jaffa wore a bemused expression as he watched the antics of his colleagues. "I take it you never played with marbles as a kid?"  
  
"I did not."  
  
"Well, we'll teach you," Jack said. "Tonight. It's an Earth rule, you know. Every kid has got to know how to play marbles."  
  
Teal'c frowned. "We are not kids, O'Neill."  
  
"Ah, c'mon, Teal'c," Jack cajoled as he pawed happily through the little spheres. "There's a kid inside all of us, even you." He looked up at the Jaffa again. "And I'm not talking about Junior either." Teal'c remained standing. He looked out over the land, his expression appeared unchanged, but Jack recognized the slight spread of his lips that said the Jaffa was leading him on. Teal'c, you devil, Jack thought with a grin.  
  
Daniel seemed pretty confident in his abilities, and if Carter played marbles the way she played pool, she'd be hard to beat. Those two would have to be on separate teams. Jack would team up with Teal'c. He'd play the old, "c'mon, we gotta be fair to the new guy," routine to the hilt, then he and Teal'c would walk away with all the marbles. No one would expect an ambush by the noble Jaffa.  
  
  
  
Ryder wriggled her hand into the circle of stones. She dug downward until her arm was buried up past her elbow. Jack watched her quizzically. "Ah, yes," he joked. "It's a well-known fact that the best marbles are always at the bottom of the pot." The quiet woman smiled distractedly. Her face took on a look of concentration, then, surprise and then, alarm. She strained to pull her arm back up, but the more she pulled, the more deeply into the stones her arm sank.  
  
"Ryder!" Jack jumped to his feet and went to help the struggling woman. As one, the rest of the group backed away. Jack managed to pull her free of the ground, but the effort left them both shaken. He put a steadying hand on her shoulder. "You all right?"  
  
She nodded, her face pale. "Thank you, Sir."  
  
"What was that?" Daniel asked nervously.  
  
Ryder studied her arm a moment. "I'm not sure," she said. "The stones seemed to pull on me the deeper into them I went."  
  
"You're kidding!" Carter stared with new appreciation at the stones in her hands. "I wonder if this has anything to do with the ship still being in the ground."  
  
The geologist walked back into the circle and knelt on the stones. "Ryder, what are you doing?" Jack growled. She laid both hands flat on the stones and pushed down. Her hands remained on the surface. Carter followed her into the circle and mimicked the geologist. She then wriggled her fingers into the stones, stopping when she was buried up to her wrist. "Carter!" Jack rolled his eyes in exasperation. "For cryin' out loud, what is it with you people?"  
  
Carter's eyes closed as she concentrated on what was happening just below the surface. "There's definitely a pull, but it's not too bad at this depth." She looked at Ryder. "It almost feels fluidic, except that it's dry." The geologist nodded her agreement. Slowly Carter pulled her hand back. It came out of the ground easily. She looked up at Jack. "The stones must generate some sort of field the deeper into them you go. It isn't strong on the surface, though. We're probably safe as long as we don't try to stick anything into it."  
  
"Oh, you mean like body parts?" Jack said sarcastically. "Now get out of there, both of you," he commanded.  
  
The women obeyed. "Why are the stones contained in these circles?" Carter persisted. "Where are they coming from?"  
  
Ryder slowly shook her head, baffled. She looked over at her teammate. "Let's shoot it."  
  
"Shoot the marbles? Sounds a little drastic," Jack said. He turned to Teal'c and muttered. "Scientists. What they can't understand, they shoot."  
  
Carter chuckled. Jack noted that although she was equally mystified by what Ryder wanted to do, she didn't appear worried. Jack was good at reading her. Maybe he didn't know much science, but he knew his people. He trusted Carter's judgment implicitly in these matters. In spite of Ryder's bizarre experience, as long as his Major wasn't alarmed, he didn't feel the need to be.  
  
  
  
"A shot-point, Sir," Harris explained. "We shoot a probe through this stuff, then we track its echo on our sensors. Hopefully it'll give us a clue about how these circles formed, the geological stability of the crust, seismic activity, you know, that kind of stuff."  
  
"How long will all that take?"  
  
Harris shrugged. "Depends on what we find. Could take twenty minutes, could take a couple of hours."  
  
"Do it," Jack commanded. "Long as we're stopped we'll break for lunch. Carter, don't let 'em shoot all the marbles. I'm sure you'll want to add some to your rock collection. Just skim 'em off the top. No more stickin' your hands where they don't belong. And make sure you pick up enough for tonight's tournament."  
  
She grinned. "Yes, Sir."  
  
  
  
"Shooting" the site was easy. The probe met little resistance as it sank deeper into the loosely-packed stones. They set up the seismometer. Almost immediately an image began to form on the graph on the screen.  
  
"Huh!" Harris grunted in surprise. He stared at the image. It was not the jagged lines of normal seismic activity, but hundreds of tiny dots that quickly covered the page. "Whaddya make of that?"  
  
Ryder knelt over the seismometer, pondering the image in silence as a seismic picture formed. The planet continued to tremble, but the vibrations, too subtle to be noticed by humans, were easily picked up by the sensitive equipment. The screen quickly filled with tiny dots, turning the page a solid black. "Lahar."  
  
"What? Wait," Daniel sputtered. "Lahar? How's that possible?"  
  
"What?" Jack said. "What's a lahar, anyway?"  
  
"Debris flow." Harris said, equally disbelieving.  
  
"It's an Indonesian term," Daniel offered. "It describes the movement of a body of material propelled and controlled by gravity, like from lava and mudflows. See, gravity propels the flow downward from, say, the top of a volcano." He held his right hand high and to the side, palm open, and made to bring it down as though descending a slope. Jack grabbed his arm.  
  
"Okay, a mudflow. I got it."  
  
"Lahar can move incredibly fast," Daniel continued, unperturbed. "That's what buried Pompeii. The wall of hot mud even overtook horse-driven chariots." He turned to Ryder, his tone challenging. "Lahar only happens where there's slope. This area's too flat."  
  
"I know." The geologist said.  
  
Harris frowned as he studied the darkening screen. "But that's what the data appears to be telling us."  
  
"That's not all it's telling us." Carter pointed at the monitor. Jack caught the shift in the Major's tone. He ignored the monitor to study her face. She wore the beginnings of a frown, her lips were set in sober curiosity, not quite turned down enough for worry. Not yet. He looked at the monitor.  
  
"The probe is still moving," Harris said. "And not just downwards, either. It's deviated westward by point-seven degrees already." He looked at Jack and shrugged. "I can't explain it, Sir. I guess we shouldn't be surprised, though; this isn't Earth, after all. It's not the first time we've encountered unlikely geology."  
  
"What, you too?" Jack exclaimed, feigning surprise. If there was one thing all the SG teams had seen since their first forays through the Gate, it was just how "unlikely" the galaxy could be. "You want to revise your risk assessment, Doctor?"  
  
Ryder stood up and looked out over the prairie a long moment, lost in thought. "Nope," she finally answered.  
  
Jack raised both eyebrows, unfailingly surprised at the scientist's brevity. He glanced at Carter who was failing to hide a smirk, and allowed his wariness to lower just a notch. "Well, since you put it that way," Jack shrugged. "Lunch is ready. Let's eat."  
  
~~~  
  
The group sat in the grass, well clear of the circle, and tried to avoid eating bugs along with their lunch. The insects swarmed in a chaotic dance around them, eager to investigate the exotic delicacies that were MREs.  
  
"I have given much thought as to which Goa'uld may be in the sarcophagus," Teal'c said.  
  
Daniel looked up from the pasty bland mush that claimed to be lasagna, happy for the distraction. "So...who?"  
  
"I believe this Goa'uld is Amon-Ptah."  
  
Jack's head shot up from trying to fish a bug out of his coffee. His mouth dropped open and he looked quickly from Teal'c to Sam, and back to Teal'c again. "Excuse me? Samantha!?"  
  
Teal'c cocked his head and stared at Jack, confused. Daniel smiled. "Amon-Ptah," he said slowly and clearly. "What makes you think it's him?"  
  
"What?" Jack asked, his wariness notching upwards again. "Who is this...Am-an-tah, guy, anyway?" His eyes shifted to Sam and he shrugged at her reproving look.  
  
"I cannot be certain that it is he," Teal'c answered. "But I believe it is possible. The Goa'uld call Amon-Ptah the Hidden One. He has been hidden from sight for ten thousand years. The belief is that whoever finds him will be rewarded beyond all expectation."  
  
"Ten thousand years." Jack looked impressed. "So, who's he hiding from?"  
  
"Amon-Ptah was the master craftsman in Egyptian mythology," Daniel said, trying to reason out the answer himself. "He created with stone, whereas Sokar, his counterpart, created with metal. He's said to have sculpted the gods and created all living things. When he was finished, he just... disappeared."  
  
"Whoa, wait a minute, back up! Did you say he sculpted the gods?" Sam asked. "What, as in, made the gods?"  
  
"That is correct, Major Carter." Teal'c's eyes took on an angry glint. "It was also he who made the Jaffa what we are."  
  
"Thus it is said of Ptah:" Daniel quoted the Egyptian mythology from memory. "He who made all things and created the gods. So be it recognized and understood: that he is the mightiest of all the gods." A theory formed in his mind. "Of course! The greatest difference between modern Goa'uld and primitive Goa'uld, --"  
  
"Is that there's no naquadah in primitive Goa'uld," Sam said. "Are you saying that Amon-Ptah --"  
  
"Figured out a way to elevate primitive Goa'uld - maybe...accelerate their evolution," Daniel finished.  
  
"And naquadah may have been part of the process." Sam frowned. "I don't know, Daniel. There's no naquadah on the Goa'uld home world and the Unas we met there were primitive. I find it hard to believe that a natural Goa'uld could be that intelligent."  
  
"Unless he infested a host who happened to have naquadah in its system," Daniel countered. "Being a parasite, maybe he could have taken advantage of that."  
  
"Who besides the Goa'uld have naquadah already in their system?" Sam asked.  
  
"The Ancients?" Wayne suggested. "Maybe he infested one of the Ancients when they came to install the Gate on the Goa'uld home world"  
  
"Biologically, it wouldn't have been that simple," Sam argued. "The Goa'uld couldn't pass naquadah onto their offspring simply because they'd infested someone with naquadah. Though they are a highly resourceful species, so I suppose it's at least possible."  
  
Daniel shrugged. "Well, all of this is just speculation, anyway. We don't have a lot to go on, except for what the mythology says - both Egyptian and," he gestured toward Teal'c. "Apparently, Goa'uld myth, as well."  
  
Teal'c continued his story. "Ptah found much favor with the System Lords who conferred upon him the rank of Amon - King of the gods. However, instead of territory, Ptah demanded and was given whatever resources he desired both for his ease and for his scientific pursuits."  
  
Jack shook his head and held the index finger of both hands up in front of his face as he tried to take in what he had just learned. "So...a snakehead scientist?"  
  
"Precisely, O'Neill." Teal'c answered.  
  
Jack rolled his eyes. "Great!"  
  
"Ptah also sent out his servants to seek the most intelligent hosts among all the holdings of the Goa'uld," Teal'c went on. "He was welcomed wherever he went, since it meant technological advancement for the Goa'uld hosting his entourage. He is reputed as being benevolent, both toward the Goa'uld and toward his slaves.  
  
"A benevolent Goa'uld?" Jack snorted in disbelief. "I don't buy that."  
  
"Ptah had no naquadah mines, no land holdings, and what few slaves he had were scientists and artisans."  
  
Daniel nodded. "It stands to reason that he'd treat his people well. I imagine it would be pretty hard to think creatively after a long day in the mines."  
  
"Oh, I don't know," Jack said sardonically. "After a few days starving in Pyrus' mines we came up with some pretty creative ideas about where he could stick his naquadah."  
  
Daniel's face flushed with embarrassment at the memory of his month with Shyla, living in the lap of luxury, while his team languished in her father's naquadah mine. He was grateful when Teal'c spoke again.  
  
"Ptah gave great gifts to the System Lords. It is he who built the ha'tak vessels and death-gliders."  
  
"I thought they stole those," Jack said, returning his attention to the bugs that were swimming in his coffee.  
  
"Whether he invented them or merely stole the designs for them, I cannot say," Teal'c replied. "Amon-Ptah has been missing for ten thousand years. He is highly regarded by the Goa'uld, and I know only what the legends tell of him."  
  
"This ship doesn't look like anything we've ever seen before, so, there's a pretty good chance that it is, uh...Amon-Ptah," Sam said, shuddering in distaste. It was true, Daniel thought, the name did sound like Sam's, but without the S.  
  
"To this day, the search for the Great Maker is a sacred quest for many Goa'uld who aspire to become System Lords," Teal'c said. "This quest may even have extended the boundaries of Goa'uld exploration. I doubt there are any worlds known to them that have not been thoroughly searched, but there has never been so much as a trace of Amon-Ptah or of his servants."  
  
"Well, P4N-285 isn't on the Abydos cartouche," Sam reminded them. "It's one of the addresses the Colonel uploaded to our computer from the Alliance library."  
  
"So, you're saying Amon-Ptah found this place, where no one would think to look, to work on, what, some top secret project, maybe?" Everett asked, an edge of excitement in the quiet man's tone.  
  
Daniel shrugged. "Why not? I mean, if he's as intelligent as Teal'c says and if he had limitless resources, he could have found a way."  
  
"He can't be so intelligent," Jack muttered. "If he's been stuck here without a crew for ten thousand years."  
  
"Well, since this planet isn't in Goa'uld territory so to speak, then maybe that ship didn't just sink by accident." Sam added. She gestured toward the circle of stones. "This planet's geology is weird. We were wondering why the Goa'uld didn't just turn on their engines and lift themselves out of their hole. What if they can't? What if the energy field in those stones is strong enough to negate the energy in naquadah?"  
  
"Like Thor's cave back on Cimmeria?"  
  
"Yes, Sir," Sam answered, surprised by the Colonel's insightful comment. "I hadn't thought about that, but it makes sense. Something in Thor's cavern made Teal'c's staff unusable. We just assumed that it was some sort of Asgard technology, but what if it wasn't? What if it was a naturally-occurring phenomenon that the Asgard knew how to exploit? Come to think of it, I couldn't get the ribbon-device to work while we were hiding out inside Olaf's cave either. Sir," she said excitedly, "if you're right, then these stones may be as big a find as that ship."  
  
"The sarcophagus is working," Daniel reminded her.  
  
Sam shrugged. "Maybe the ship's interior is shielded, whereas anything directly exposed to the soil isn't."  
  
"It is possible," Teal'c agreed, equally excited, despite his even tone. "These stones could become a potent weapon against Goa'uld technology."  
  
"Throw stones at the Goa'uld? That's something we haven't tried yet," Jack said.  
  
"Humans have used this tactic successfully in the past," Teal'c reminded him. "Your Bible speaks of a young shepherd boy who struck down a giant with one well-aimed stone."  
  
"David and Goliath," Daniel said. "The classic mix of human resourcefulness and Divine intervention, of right over might, good over evil."  
  
"And these aren't just any old stones, Sir."  
  
Jack grinned. "Your right, Major, they're Thor's stones. Soon as we get home you can build us some fancy slingshots. The Goa'uld won't know what hit 'em right between the eyes."  
  
"Individually the stones don't appear to be very dangerous," Doctor Ryder reminded them.  
  
"True," Sam agreed. "It's more likely the field they generate that's important. And if Ptah's first host was one of the Ancients then maybe his host knew that. Maybe he influenced the Goa'uld to come here, hoping that the planet might take him out."  
  
Silence fell over the group. Daniel stared down at his plate, not seeing the flies that feasted on his untouched meal. Sam was right. It had happened before. Kendra had persuaded her Goa'uld to go to Cimmeria where it died by Thor's Hammer. When the Colonel and Teal'c had been caught on Klorrel's ship, Daniel was convinced that it was Skarra who made Klorrel disobey Apophis' command and spare the lives of Jack and Teal'c, long enough for him and Sam to rescue them.  
  
And Sha're. She had been so strong, so faithful despite the years and the unimaginable abuse. Back on Abydos, she had somehow blinded her Goa'uld to Daniel's presence as he and his teammates hid from Apophis. Then, the last time he had seen her, Sha're had not tried to escape death at Teal'c's hand. She had consoled her husband, had shown him what was in her heart and told him to forgive Teal'c. Yes, Sha're had proven how well she could control both her parasite and her heart. If Sam was right, and Ptah's host had brought him here to die, then SG-1 owed it to him to finish the job the planet had started.  
  
"Break's over," Jack said curtly. "Let's get moving."  
  
______________  
  
  
  
It took another five hours before they finally reached their destination. Major Carter stopped and studied the readouts from her hand held sensor. "We've arrived at the coordinates, Sir," she called out. The ship's apex is...." She covered the ground in several long strides and stopped. "About seventy meters straight down."  
  
"All right!" O'Neill clapped his hands eagerly. "Let's get this show on the road. Harris, what can we do to help?"  
  
"We'll start by demarcating the perimeter," the Lieutenant said. "If you could follow us around and plant stakes that would be good."  
  
"Sir, I'd like to set up my equipment over there," Major Carter said, extending her arm and pointing due west of their position. "About one klik away from the ship's edge and out of the way of the excavations."  
  
"Do it," O'Neill said. "Teal'c, Siler." He gestured with his head that they should go with the Major.  
  
  
  
Once at the site, Teal'c prepared the balloon while the two scientists unpacked the equipment it would carry. He adjusted the restraining straps that held the balloon as it filled with helium. Deflated and folded, it took up no more space than a large pillow. The material seemed flimsy to Teal'c and he privately wondered how this limp mass of thin plastic was going to hold aloft so much equipment. Major Carter and Sergeant Siler seemed unconcerned however. They were busy arranging the balloon's payload into six different groupings, giving them a final check before packing each group into separate, light-weight plastic cages.  
  
As Teal'c's balloon grew, it took on the appearance of a giant orange missile with fins. The lighter-than-air gas forced in through an inflation tube in its nose caused the tethered balloon to stand on end above his head. Looking up at it, Teal'c imagined himself as that unfortunate cartoon coyote he enjoyed watching - the one that was always inevitably crushed by his own ingenious devices in his schemes to capture the road-runner bird. He glanced over at the scientists. They must have imagined the same scenario, for they had stopped working, and were grinning at the sight. Teal'c pulled out his boonie hat, making a show of solemnly covering his head against the bomb. The pair dissolved into loud peels of laughter. Teal'c smiled back. Tau'ri humor would never be as good as Jaffa humor, but it had its moments.  
  
He had developed a liking for cartoons, and of them all, the antics of the coyote and the road-runner were the most entertaining. To him, they served as an apt analogy for SG-1's frequent encounters with Apophis. Like the coyote, Apophis' cunning plans were ingenious and convoluted. Like the road-runner, Teal'c's team always seemed to get the upper hand of him and escape more or less unscathed. And, like the coyote, Apophis always came back, even when his own schemes literally blew up in his face.  
  
Teal'c's smile vanished. There were a lot of coyotes among the Goa'uld, some more wily than Apophis. If it was truly Amon-Ptah buried in that ship, then SG-1 would have to use extreme caution, for he may just be the most guileful of them all. Perhaps it would have been wiser to enlist the aid of the more experienced Tok'Ra.  
  
Although he understood O'Neill's desire to procure weapons to protect Earth, he also knew that pride played a big part in his decision, whether the human admitted it or not. Teal'c's first allegiance was toward the Tau'ri and he would stick by them, come what may, but to him it made little difference who saved the galaxy from the Goa'uld, as long as his people could finally know freedom.  
  
  
  
In good time the balloon and its precious cargo was aloft. Teal'c set up camp while Major Carter and Sergeant Siler contacted SG-11 and calibrated their equipment with what had been set up at the Gate site. Through the radio he could hear the engines of earth-moving machinery coming through the Stargate in preparation for the mammoth excavation project. Spirits were high at both sites as work progressed without a hitch.  
  
After supper, Sergeant Siler pulled out the large bag of "marbles" and the group taught Teal'c how to play the Tau'ri game under the brightly- lit night-sky.  
  
Eleven moons of various sizes crossed the sky in tight formation, eclipsing each other as they raced toward the eastern horizon. The group talked long into the night of the strange phenomenon of the moon's retro- grade orbits.  
  
Usually, moons behaved like Earth's solitary satellite, rising in the east and setting in the west. Occasionally, the Stargate brought them to planets with a different angular rotation than normal, but this was the first world on record with so many moons that all defied the norm. Theories and stories about their observations on other planets were tossed around like the marbles they played with. Teal'c quickly mastered the Tau'ri game, and he and O'Neill finished with the lion's share of the marbles. Finally, the group settled down for a few hours of sleep.  
  
________________  
  
  
  
Jack was shaken awake. He stood up abruptly, as did the hairs on his neck. Teal'c stood beside him, the whites of his eyes huge as they swept over the land.  
  
"Something is not right, O'Neill. My symbiote has become agitated."  
  
Jack's jaw clenched in alarm. "Reetou?" he breathed.  
  
Teal'c shook his head. "I do not believe so. My symbiote is not in pain as when Reetou are present." His voice dropped to a whisper. "It is afraid."  
  
Jack shot him a look. "Afraid?" Teal'c said nothing. The men stood back to back, scanning the area for signs of danger. The dawn was still as death. No breeze rustled the long grass and even the ubiquitous insects had vanished. Jack looked toward the east. "Maybe Junior doesn't like the light-show." A large moon was just touching the horizon as it set. Three smaller moons appeared to hang inside the circle of the large full- moon.  
  
Teal'c turned and studied the sky with his companion. He frowned deeply with discomfort. "Perhaps."  
  
Suddenly a blinding flash shot forth from the horizon and spread like a shockwave, igniting the surface of the world. The planet's main sun was rising. "Argh!" Jack put a hand to his face, massaging his eyes and temples vigorously. He put his sunglasses on.  
  
"Unh!" Teal'c grunted. He pulled up his Tee-shirt and stared at his pouch. Its x-shaped orifice pulled open and Teal'c's larva darted partially out, up to half its body. It let out a high-pitched, anxious keening as it waved to and fro, retracting into its shelter and then pulling out again, as if undecided what it should do.  
  
Suddenly a sound like canon fire boomed loudly on the horizon. The land before them heaved, rising up then bowing low as though doing obeisance to the pantheon of moons and the rising sun.  
  
"Quake!" Wayne Harris shouted as he joined the two men. "A big one!" The rest of the team, alerted by the noise, rushed toward the trio. They watched in helpless fascination as the huge groundswell raced toward them and the wave hit. The ground beneath them heaved and rolled, violently knocking everyone off their feet.  
  
Jack rode the wave like a kid rides the roller coaster, knowing enough to be terrified, but not enough to keep from being exhilarated. He was aware of the others rolling around next to him. Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over.  
  
He lay still, reveling in the sensation of the ride. He made a quick body count, noting with relief that the ground hadn't opened up and swallowed anyone. However, the tables laden with the scientist's delicate equipment had not fared as well. He had seen them rise on the wave and then collapse in a heap. Carter was going to be ticked.  
  
"Damn!"  
  
He looked toward the sound and saw Sam, already standing, staring in dismay at her equipment, confirming his thought. "Everyone all right?" he called out. Various muttered replies confirmed that none of the team was any the worse for wear. Sam rushed over to her precious equipment and sank to her knees, clucking over her do-hickeys like a flustered mother hen. "Carter?" he called out.  
  
"Oh I'm just peachy, Sir," she ground out angrily. "Wish I could say the same for this." She held up a small machine. About the size of a shoe box, it's casing was cracked and its little monitor was broken. She dropped it in disgust.  
  
Jack walked up to her and surveyed the damage. Most of the equipment had shared the same fate as the piece Carter was grieving over. He toed the broken monitor. "Does this mean we won't be able to watch the soaps while we're here?"  
  
Sam closed her eyes and shook her head, too exasperated to be mollified by the Colonel's humor. "Yeah, something like that." She sighed and her shoulders drooped. "Now we have no way of seeing what's going on inside the ship."  
  
Jack frowned as he looked up at the sky. "I thought that's what all that stuff up there was for." He gestured to the balloon, its burden still safely in place on the tether-line. Sam didn't even look up. She just shook her head again.  
  
"What's up there is useless unless what's down here can access it." She reached out to the radio signal booster. It, at least, was still intact. She re-calibrated it.  
  
"...eill!" A voice rang out from the radio. "This is Sierra Golf eleven- niner. Respond!"  
  
Sam's hand froze over the controls, the urgency in Colonel Jones's voice was chilling. She looked up at her commanding officer as he answered the hail. "O'Neill here. What's going on, Luke?"  
  
A sound like crashing thunder almost drowned out the shouted reply. "All hell, Jack! We got hit by a quake. Fisk is gone." Harris and Ryder shared a horrified look.  
  
"And so is the Stargate!"  
  
***  
  
  
  
Jack stood absolutely still, the color draining from his face. The Gate was gone?  
  
An image flashed up from his memory: a barren gully on Edora. The Stargate, lost under tons of soil impenetrable by the primitive tools he had had on hand. The Gate was gone.  
  
"Jack, do you read?" Colonel Jones's voice was raw with emotion. "The goddamn Gate is gone! The quake just swallowed it up."  
  
"Sir, this is Harris," the engineer answered his commanding officer's call through his own radio. "Is everyone else all right?" The sound of his voice shook Jack out of his stupor, but still he remained silent, letting Harris talk.  
  
"Yeah," Jones responded. "The quake's stopped, but...."  
  
"Sir," Wayne spoke calmly but forcefully into the radio. "Put some distance between you and the hole."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, we're moving," Jones responded breathlessly, having to shout over the crashing sound that accompanied his voice through the radio. "It's the damnedest thing I've ever seen, Harris. Gravel is filling the hole back up as though there's some kind of conveyor belt dumping the stuff into it. Fisk never had a chance. Gate opened right on top of him. I--" His voice broke. "I couldn't help him."  
  
Jack noted the shock in the man's voice and took over again. "We're on our way," he said grimly.  
  
  
  
Jack set the team a brisk pace as they marched across the plain. The land around them was eerily still; there was no breeze, no animals, even the insects had abandoned them. Only the explosive sound that accompanied the aftershocks broke the silence as the team moved forward.  
  
There were definitely more quakes today than there had been yesterday, and they were far more intense. Carter theorized that the moons must be the cause, and that their alignment probably meant the planet was in for a few weeks of moderate to severe quakes.  
  
After each tremor the two teams spoke to each other over the radio. Jones and his men had gotten the heavy machinery, along with the MALP with its radio relay station to more stable ground for the time being. The DHD was intact.  
  
  
  
In their march back to the Gate Sam took point along with Emma and Wayne. The three were spread out in a wide, triangular formation, sweeping the ground with their sensor equipment in the hopes of avoiding the more dangerous areas.  
  
"Heads up," the Colonel's quiet warning came through the radio. Sam looked up. Everyone had stopped and was looking toward the geologist. She was slowly going over a patch of ground with her hand-held sensor.  
  
"Ground here is stable, but I'm picking something up," Ryder called into the eerie silence. She shook her head - a big, side to side movement that clearly said she did not believe what the readings were telling her.  
  
As Sam and Wayne converged on the geologist, their sensors started emitting a popping sound, and row upon row of number sequences played out on their small screens. "Readings from the probe?" Wayne exclaimed. "That can't be right."  
  
Emma's frown deepened and she shook her head again. "It's the probe."  
  
Wayne stared at his teammate, unbelieving despite the certainty in her voice. "Emma, this has gotta be at least four kliks from where we anchored it."  
  
The Colonel and the others caught up with the three scientists. "What's up?" Daniel asked.  
  
"What's down is more like it," Wayne muttered. "And apparently, the answer is, the probe is down," he pointed at Daniel's feet. "There. A good ten meters down."  
  
"The probe. The probe?" Daniel cocked his head, both eyebrows raised as he tried to comprehend what Harris was telling him. "The probe you shot into that crop-circle," he swept his arm out in an arc, pointing off into the distance. "Way over there?"  
  
"Yes," the tone in Wayne's one word answer both agreeing it was impossible and confirming that it was the case.  
  
"All right," Jack said. "Even I know this is screwy. So, how is that possible?" The group looked at each other a moment, as though trying to read the answer off the other's faces.  
  
"Lahar."  
  
Everyone turned to Teal'c. Teal'c looked at Emma. "Colonel Jones spoke of gravel re-filling the hole where the Stargate lies, as though there was a conveyance mechanism in the ground. Is that not like the lahar of which you spoke earlier?"  
  
"Lahar requires gravity to work," Emma said.  
  
"But yesterday you said --" Daniel started.  
  
"I suspected that lahar may be at work deep underground, not near the surface where gravity wouldn't enter into the equation. This runs counter to any mass movement mechanics I've ever observed." She put a hand to her head, pinching her eyes tightly closed as though all that talking was giving her a headache. Guilt was evident on the frustrated woman's face.  
  
"Not your fault, Ryder," the Colonel said quietly. Unlikely geology, remember?" She frowned the more deeply and kept her eyes closed, but acknowledged the Colonel's words with a nod. "Back into formation, everyone," he commanded. "Move out." Wordlessly, the group returned to their positions and resumed their march.  
  
  
  
Sam advanced cautiously over the ground, her senses on high alert. If gravity wasn't moving the probe, what was, she wondered. The energy field in the layer of stones? Colonel Jones said they were moving fast, filling in the hole that had opened under the Gate. Rocks weren't supposed to move around like that.  
  
Suddenly Teal'c's voice sounded over her radio. "We are about to experience another quake."  
  
Sam stopped. She scanned the horizon, watching for the tell-tale wave the quakes caused in the land. Her mouth went dry and her blood fled deep within her, protecting her organs - an autonomic reaction to fear that was getting a thorough workout this day.  
  
She saw it; the now-familiar undulating roll of prairie several hundred meters wide, bearing down swiftly upon them. She stared, both enthralled and terrified, Her hand-held sensor let out a high-pitched warning, too late, of imminent collapse underfoot.  
  
The wave hit, and with it, the accompanying sense that everything was happening in slow-motion. Sam watched as first Emma, and then Teal'c and Wayne were lifted up and thrown down by the violent pitch of the land swell. Then it was her turn. The land rose up to meet her. It snapped at her soles like a whip, sending a painful jolt through her body. She fell face-down and clutched the grass, enduring the ride, holding tightly to the mane of tough vegetation while the earth bucked beneath her. The ground hunched again and reared up, tossing Sam off its back as easily as she would flick an insect from her skin.  
  
For a second, as time continued to move in slow-motion, Sam hung motionless in the air. Then she fell. Sam's arms flailed, windmilling as her body tried to right itself. She fell, instinctively aware that she should have landed by now. Finally she landed in an awkward crouch that pitched her onto her back. She was in a hole, its lip just beyond the reach of her outstretched hand. The ground beneath her shuddered insanely as though still in the throes of the quake.  
  
Sam gained her feet with difficulty as she scrambled clumsily against flowing gravel. An inexhaustible torrent of little round stones vibrated madly as they gushed from their place in the walls and fell, gathering in a Saint Vitus's dance around her legs. Sam felt like an ant that had fallen into a hole with a working jackhammer. She reached up for the surface, but it had further receded from her. She was sinking fast. Already the stones pouring out of the walls had buried her almost to her knees. Sam panicked, remembering the difficulty Emma had just pulling her arm out of the ground, and the probe that had been found, ten meters deep and four kilometers away from its mooring.  
  
"Colonel!" she screamed as the stones rose to mid thigh.  
  
"Major Carter!"  
  
She looked up into the face of Teal'c. He was on his stomach, body dangerously extended over the lip of solid ground above her, one arm extended. "Teal'c!" she gasped, reaching up to grab his hand. Teal'c engulfed her right hand in his giant palm and pulled with all his strength, his face tense with exertion. Sam grasped his wrist with her left hand and bent her elbows, using Teal'c as leverage against the pull of the stones' energy field.  
  
Sam couldn't breathe. The stones climbed higher, and despite Teal'c's hold on her, she sank deeper into the pit. They buried her up to her chest. Pressure forced the air from her lungs. Still Teal'c held her. The stones poured from the walls, relentless. They were up to her armpits. Her left hand slipped away from her grip on him. She flailed wildly at the encroaching stones in a futile attempt to brush them away.  
  
~~~  
  
Teal'c's ears filled with terrifying sounds: of the ground rumbling, of Major Carter's grunts of exertion as she fought with him to free herself, grunts that changed to harsh gasps as the rising flood of stones crushed her. He felt her hold on his hand weakening, and he squeezed all the harder.  
  
He heard shouting, felt pressure on his waist and legs as the others took hold of him and tried to pull him and the Major back from the pit. Teal'c's entire upper body now hung over the sinkhole. With one hand he held onto the Major while with his other he vainly sought purchase on the collapsing earth.  
  
Teal'c grit his teeth in fear. He was no match for the sinkhole; the harder he pulled, the more deeply into the pit he followed his teammate. The stones reached to the Major's shoulders now. Desperation sent a reserve of strength and he heaved with all his might. The sharp pull tore her shoulder from its socket, dislocating it. For a few seconds the two hung in suspension, staring at each other. The stones rose to her chin and she could no longer move her head. Her eyes were wild with terror and disbelief. They pleaded with him to save her, but he could only watch helplessly as more stones flooded around her face, submerging her completely. He squeezed her hand, desperate not to lose her, and felt the sickening crunch of bones breaking in his too-strong grasp. Her arm and then both their hands disappeared into the gravel as the planet prepared to swallow him along with her. He was yanked back, away from the hole, and he lost his grip on her.  
  
Disbelieving, his eyes raked the ground where Major Carter had disappeared, but already there was no trace of his friend. The stones continued their rise. She was gone.  
  
Teal'c screamed.  
  
***  
  
  
  
George Hammond made his way to the clearing on the mountain. SG-1 had dubbed this spot 'AT&T' in honor of their three closest allies - the Asgard, the Tok'Ra, and the Tollan. George knew it well, even if he wasn't the one who usually placed the calls to the aliens. It was a good place to get a clear look at the stars, and from time to time George did just that. Looking skyward, he'd have a one-sided chat with his old war buddy, keeping Jacob up to date with the goings-on of the world in general and of his daughter in particular.  
  
Jacob Carter had been a close friend since '70. They had served together in Vietnam, as well as on a lot of missions not always officially recognized by the USAF or the American government. He had been a Captain at the time, and Jacob, a Major. When, in '72, Jacob had invited him to his home and he had met young Samantha, George knew that it wasn't for the first time. Three years earlier, she had been twenty seven years older, and an Air Force Captain. Knowing what lay ahead for both of them, George had taken a real liking to the energetic and inquisitive child, following her rapid progress and considerable accomplishments with all the interest of a proud uncle. Meeting her then, and knowing what the future held for him, had given the younger George the boldness to keep taking the high risk assignments that had put him on the fast track to promotion.  
  
Years later, during his stint in the Pentagon, a paper passed his desk - a thesis by a brilliant young officer on the use of black holes as a theoretical means of interstellar travel. It wasn't long before Captain Carter was working for him, on the project of her dreams. He was careful to keep his distance at that time, watching from the sidelines to see when and how she would hook up with the three men who would accompany her on that fateful trip through time. A trip, he had no doubt, that would have something to do with a certain alien artifact: the one that General West's people and his were trying to get to work again, as it had on August 11, 1969, when four people, a woman and three men, had activated and passed through it, literally disappearing into thin air.  
  
  
  
But on this night, George had no good news to relay to his friend. SG teams one and eleven had made it home, but not all of them. They had come hurtling through the Gate amidst a hail of stones, haggard, injured, in shock, and minus two of their group. The Gate on P4N-285 was on its back in a deep hole, and the planet seemed bent on burying it for good. George sighed. It could have been worse. He could have lost them all.  
  
He set the Tollan communication device on the ground and activated it. A compact beam of bright light instantly shot from the device and headed unerringly to its intended recipient hiding among the stars.  
  
It shouldn't have been such a shock for him. He knew that every time anyone passed through the Stargate, the risk of losing someone was great, but, of the four people making up SG-1, Sam Carter usually managed to return uninjured. If collectively, SG-1 had a reputation for having the nine lives of a cat, then of the four, Sam had always been the one most likely to land on her feet.  
  
Not this time. Sam was dead. Buried alive.  
  
Years spent fighting powerful human and alien enemies against incredible odds and coming out the victor had almost led George to believe the young woman was charmed. But what do you do when a planet conspires against you? Apparently, you lose. He grimaced. Everybody's luck runs out, eventually.  
  
George bent to retrieve the device. He trudged through the forest, back to the base where a related task awaited his attention.  
  
Captain Bernie Fisk had shared Major Carter's fate, and there were letters to the family that had to be written. All personnel who worked under him had a cover-story in the event of their deaths. Necessary as it was, George would never be comfortable lying about the loss of good people to a war their grieving family members didn't even know was being fought. They deserved better. George shook his head wearily. He straightened his stance and squared his shoulders as he left the woods, carrying his burden of responsibility alone, as was expected of him.  
  
__________________  
  
  
  
Teal'c sat cross-legged on the floor in his room. It was brightly lit by every candle he had in his possession. Their flickering glow marked the hours as they burned down. The air was stiflingly warm and close. He stared down at his hands: big, strong, dependable. He hated them. They had betrayed him. They had betrayed Major Carter.  
  
His symbiote fidgeted within him, demanding that he relax and allow the healing that they both needed, but Teal'c was not in the mood for Kel-no- reem. Every time he tried to empty his mind the image of his friend filled it, filling him with deep remorse. He knew he had nothing to feel guilty about. He was only a Jaffa. He could not hope to defeat a planet. Kel-no-reem would give him balance - a more reasonable perspective.  
  
Teal'c had lost one of his best friends. She had literally slipped through his fingers. He didn't want to be reasonable, he wanted to be miserable. He felt a perverse jealousy toward the humans who could prolong the physical pain of grief for weeks or even years, seemingly without relief.  
  
He decided to go to the lounge down the corridor from his quarters. Perhaps if he imbibed enough coffee he could put off Kel-no-reem for a little longer.  
  
Teal'c reached a hand out to the nearest candle. Thumb and forefinger closed over the flame, snuffing it out. His hand froze in place over it. The smoke from its fragile wick ascended like an ephemeral body between his large fingers. Teal'c's jaw worked constantly as he stared. The planet had snuffed his friend's life as easily as he had suffocated the flame on the candle.  
  
Slowly, he pulled his hand away, his eyes, fixed on the wick. His lips began to tremble. He closed his eyes tightly and inclined his face toward the ceiling, straining hard to keep the wetness in his eyes from forming into tears. His jaw locked against the grief and rage he felt at his loss, until every muscle quivered from the effort and he finally lay back in a torpor.  
  
Teal'c was asleep before his head hit the floor, breathing the deep, harsh, shuddering breaths of grief-induced exhaustion. The larva within him got to work, releasing hormones and enzymes that would quickly re- set its host's nervous system to normal. Within minutes Teal'c's features softened and his breathing became more regular. The other candles continued their flickering vigil around the sleeping Jaffa and the blackened wick of their extinguished sister.  
  
_______________  
  
  
  
Lieutenant Colonel Luke Jones lay in the infirmary, a prisoner of Doctor Fraiser, who wanted to keep him there, "for observation." He had broken his collarbone and had gotten a concussion from a few nasty bumps on his head during his descent into the pit that had swallowed the Gate on P4N- 285, but that wasn't why he was here.  
  
God, he could use a drink! A lot of drinks.  
  
He looked over at the man sleeping in the bed next to him. While they were being lowered into the hole where the Gate was, a quake had caused Colonel O'Neill to lose his grip on the cable and he had fallen through the open wormhole. As well as some nasty looking bruises, he had wrenched his knee pretty badly in his spectacular entry into the SGC. But Luke knew Jack wasn't here just because of his knee. Both of them had lost their seconds in command, so Doc. Fraiser was keeping them here because she felt they were in shock. He swore inwardly. What the hell did she know about shock, anyway?  
  
O'Neill made a sound - a choking, gasping moan - and Luke knew what nightmare the man was reliving: the nightmare from which the sedatives forbade escape. He turned his head toward the ceiling, grimacing at the sour taste at the back of his throat. He didn't want a sedative, what he needed was some whiskey to knock back that taste, to knock back the memories. He groaned as those memories resurfaced....  
  
  
  
Luke had stood on the topmost step of the Stargate and gazed out at the horizon, waiting for the sun to rise. P4N-285 had two suns and god knew how many moons. At the moment, no less than six moons were about to set, and at least three of them would be in conjunction, maybe more. Major Carter had told them earlier that this was a rare event, even for a galaxy as large as their Milky Way spiral. She had gone on about the moons being caught in a retro-grade orbit and traveling around the planet counter to the usual east-west orbit. He hadn't understood a word, but she had been pretty excited about it. That night he had seen it for himself, and had felt like the luckiest man in the galaxy. He wished his wife, Arlene, could be here with him to see this. One day, he had vowed, if the Goa'uld threat was ever eliminated, if the Stargate ever became public knowledge, if he could survive long enough, he'd pull every string he could in order to bring her to this magical world. He sighed bitterly, wondering if he'd ever be able to see beauty in any sky again.  
  
All that night, from their place near the Stargate, Jones and his crew had watched the moons rise in a column over the western horizon and race each other across the sky, making spectacular eclipses as they passed each other. Then, with dawn just moments away and the moons prepared to set, one moon had made a total eclipse of two others, while three smaller satellites appeared to hang, suspended inside its huge circle. Jones had been delighted, thinking the best was yet to come: moons-set was about to meet sun rise. It had been beautiful, and awesome, and deadly....  
  
  
  
"Fisk, you getting this?" Luke called, not wanting to take his eyes off the sight.  
  
"Yeah, I'm getting it all right," his second in command said, but if you wouldn't mind moving, Sir, I'd like to get a shot of this through the Stargate."  
  
"Oh, yes Sir, Mister artsy-fartsy director, Sir," Jones teased. Pulling away from the stone ring, he had joined the rest of his team behind the camera-wielding Captain. "Watch your eyes, boys," he said, putting on his sun glasses. "Fisk, you got a solar filter on that camera?" Jones asked.  
  
"Course, Sir," he answered distractedly. "Whoa! That's unbelievable!"  
  
Jones whistled in appreciation. The flash of golden brilliance as the sun peeked over the horizon was enthralling. He had seen the day dawn on a good many planets during his time with SG-11, but none compared to this morning. He had to agree with Fisk; the Stargate was the perfect frame for this spectacle. He felt like the galaxy had just handed them a great gift. Then the galaxy dropped the other shoe. Hard.  
  
It had started out like the rumble of thunder that got louder as it approached. In the bright light of the merging heavenly bodies, Jones saw the tall grass crest and fall like waves on a golden sea. A tingling that started in the ground ran up his body like a shiver, making the hairs rise at the back of his neck.  
  
He and his men stood rooted to the spot as they watched the approaching groundswell. In its wake, sections of grass were thrown high into the air and fell back to ground, collapsing into newly-formed holes.  
  
A new sound caught his attention. The Stargate. Earth was sending its first equipment-run of the day, right on schedule. Jones mouth dropped open in terror, his eyes went from the activating Gate to the rolling wave of the quake bearing down upon it. "Move out!"  
  
Fisk had just turned to run when the quake hit, smashing everybody onto the ground. The fifth chevron lit up on the Gate and the ground collapsed under the artifact's weight. As though caught in a drain, it spun round as it started to sink, tilting towards Fisk. The sixth chevron activated. Jones could only watch as the heavy naquadah ring slammed onto the hapless Captain and pulled him into its deadly downward pirouette. The seventh chevron lit. Quicksilver energy exploded outward and disintegrated the Captain's body, as well as a wide swath of grass and soil as the Gate sank. In a matter of seconds it was over. The quake rolled on, indifferent to its murderous wake.  
  
  
  
Luke sat bolt upright in his bed, gasping in panic, oblivious to the wrenching pain in his shoulder. He had to get out of here.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
Had to get a drink. Had to forget....  
  
"Sir? Doctor Fraiser, come quick!"  
  
Luke became aware that someone had a firm hold on his good arm. He looked over to see Wayne Harris, watching him with concern. "Harris? Harris, ya look like hell. C'mon, let's get outta here." His voice sounded thick in own his ears. "Quick, 'fore the Doc, --"  
  
"Sorry, Colonel, you're not going anywhere just yet," Doctor Fraiser said with authority. Harris, the traitor, helped her force him back down on the bed and he felt the prick of a hypo-spray against his neck. Luke sagged in defeat. There would be no escape, now.  
  
"Godammit, Doc," Luke growled. "I don't want to sleep." He turned his head toward Jack who was tossing and turning but unable to awaken. "I gotta get outta here, just need to forget for awhile, ss'all." He shook his head, keeping his gaze on Jack. "Don't...want...."  
  
~~~  
  
From his seat beside Jack's bed, Daniel watched Janet and Wayne exchange weary glances as the distraught man relaxed into sleep. "He's right, you know," Janet said. "You do look like hell." Wayne frowned. "Go to bed, Lieutenant."  
  
He looked down at his commanding officer, his friend, and opened his mouth to protest. "If not in your quarters, then here." Janet gestured to the bed next to Jones. "He's not going anywhere for awhile, Lieutenant," she assured him gently. "Sleep now, and be awake when he needs you."  
  
Wayne nodded his thanks and with a weary sigh, climbed onto the bed. "You too, Daniel," she said a little more sternly.  
  
"I will, I will." Daniel rose to his feet and approached the bed Janet had pointed out for him. With one last look at her patients, she turned and swiftly left the infirmary.  
  
Daniel hesitated at the bed, then, when she had left, he turned and followed her out of the room. It wasn't that he didn't need to sleep, he was exhausted, but he needed to talk more than to sleep right now. He'd hardly said a word since....  
  
His mind refused to go there. It had not accepted what had happened, even though Daniel had seen it with his own eyes. Seen her....  
  
He thrust his hands deep inside his pockets, clenching his fists. The action reminded him of how he and the others had held on to Teal'c and tried to keep him from going over the edge when....  
  
And then, when Teal'c had lost it, they'd had to hold on to him even tighter. The guy was strong, and it had taken all their efforts to keep him from throwing himself into the hole after Sam. It wouldn't have done any good; Sam would still be dead and they'd have lost him too.  
  
Daniel had reached the cafeteria, and he had to lean against the doorway as the realization sank in. There; his mind had finally thought it. Sam was lost to them. Sam was dead.  
  
He looked around the room. In the furthest corner Janet sat alone, huddled over a cup of coffee, holding her head in her hands. Daniel slipped quietly into the chair across the table from her. She kept her reproof at his disobedience to a knowing glare, then went back to staring into her cup. Neither spoke for some time, both lost in their own grief.  
  
"This shouldn't have happened. It's too soon."  
  
Daniel looked up, bringing his exhausted eyes and mind back into focus with difficulty. Janet was still staring into her cup.  
  
"She wasn't supposed to die. Not so soon. Not until...until much later, you know? Years from now." Her voice rose an octave higher as she forced the words past the tightness in her throat. "She promised it would be years from now."  
  
Daniel pulled his hands out of his pockets and put them on the table, slowly reaching toward her. If she saw the gesture, she didn't make a move to take the offered comfort. She tilted her head up to face him. "I always thought one of you guys.... But Sam, she wasn't supposed to."  
  
"It's all right. I understand." Daniel said. He was unable to make any sense of her words, but he shared her disbelief. How could Sam be dead?  
  
"No," Janet shook her head emphatically. "It's not all right. You don't understand." She stared at him with a strange expression that made Daniel frown.  
  
"I understand she was your friend. Sam was my friend too, --"  
  
"No!" She dropped a hand onto his and clasped it tightly. "I mean she wasn't supposed to die. At least," she sniffed. "Not until Cassie was older. After that, well, all bets would be off, of course, but we're not there yet and I'm sure it hasn't happened because Cassie's not old enough to --"  
  
"Janet!" Daniel's brain was too tired to make sense of her rambling. Gently he sandwiched her hand in both of his. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"About the future, of course," she snapped irritably.  
  
Daniel stared at her, perplexed. Janet looked up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath as she tried to corral her thoughts and emotions. She looked back at Daniel. "A few months ago, Sam and I had a little...disagreement, over Cassandra's future. I didn't want Cassie anywhere near the Stargate program."  
  
He looked at her in surprise. "You didn't?"  
  
"I'm a doctor, Daniel. I know what working here does to people - in all its gory details. I don't want my daughter to get hurt." Daniel grimaced. He knew it was hard enough on Janet when her friends came back injured or, worse. He couldn't fault her for worrying about her daughter.  
  
"Sam was always encouraging Cassie to think about working here when she grew up. No matter what Cassie happened to be interested in, Sam would find some way to tie it into a career at the SGC."  
  
Daniel smiled sadly. "Sam was always a bit... focused. She was happy here. She couldn't imagine anyone not being happy here."  
  
Janet rolled her eyes in agreement. "Yeah, well, I got angry. I told her she had no business meddling in my daughter's future. She insisted she wasn't meddling, that Cassie's future was at the SGC."  
  
Cassie's future. A spark of understanding lit in Daniel's eyes. Of course! He had forgotten all about that. "Sam told you about the future," he said, his voice incredulous. He couldn't believe it. Sam? "She told you about Cassie's future?"  
  
Janet nodded. She glanced surreptitiously around the mostly empty room. "Sam confided in me, after she saw how...upset I had become." She smiled ruefully. "I even said I'd resign my post before I'd let my daughter work here." She kept her voice low. "So, Sam told me how you had once traveled to the future where Cassandra met you and sent you back to our time. The very old, and very alive Cassandra said that when she was old enough --"  
  
"Sam would explain all this to her," Daniel finished, remembering their encounter with the white-haired woman who had been preparing all her life to send SG-1 back to their proper time. He bit his lip, not willing to acknowledge the surge of excitement that flashed within him. He shook his head. "Sam must have decided Cassie was old enough."  
  
"No!" Janet answered with conviction. "She didn't. We agreed that Cassie was too young, and that I would be there when Sam and Cassie had that talk - years from now."  
  
Daniel stared past her a long moment as he pondered, the excitement mounting. "So, Sam's alive."  
  
"Daniel, --"  
  
"No. She's alive." Daniel set his jaw as he thought. "Somehow."  
  
"She was buried alive, Daniel."  
  
"She was alive when she was buried," he countered. He stood up, pulling Janet to her feet. "C'mon."  
  
"Where are we going?" Janet protested.  
  
"To take a quick course in unlikely geology," he answered.  
  
________________  
  
  
  
George glowered at the three people sitting before him. "It's oh-three- hundred hours people," he growled. "What is so important that it couldn't wait another four hours?"  
  
"Yes, Sir" Daniel said apologetically. "We're sorry for the late hour, um, early.... But this couldn't wait. It's about Sam. We think she's still alive."  
  
George blinked, and for an instant he wondered if he was dreaming. He shook his head as though to clear it. "Come again?"  
  
"We've gone over the data again, Sir," Daniel began. The geology of P4N- 285 is unlike anything we've ever seen before. We have reason to believe that Sam could have survived being swallowed by the sinkhole.  
  
George looked at the three doctors incredulously. "How?" Daniel nodded toward Doctor Ryder, encouraging her to explain. The geologist looked uncomfortable, and George realized that not everybody shared Doctor Jackson's convictions.  
  
"P4N-285 has a unique geology, Sir," the geologist said dutifully. She pushed a printout of a computer-generated image across the briefing room table. George picked it up and examined it as she spoke. The lines and cross-hatching on the paper showed a cross-section of the planet's crust. "These appear to be bands of regolith - mineral debris as the planet re-cycles itself. This regolith flow, for lack of a better term, consists of perfectly spherical pebbles that are extremely hard and smooth. It is a new mineral to us and we're still trying to understand its properties. We're theorizing that the energy field the stones create causes the stones to travel around the planet in currents. So far we haven't been able to figure out how the topsoil manages to remain intact above the flow."  
  
George blinked again, debating that he could, in fact be dreaming. Doctor Ryder was not usually this talkative. She continued.  
  
"We saw no debris whatsoever in the regolith. No sand or clay, no water or plant material. Consequently, it's relatively light and easy to penetrate, but the field it generates exerts an irresistible --" the woman stopped abruptly. She looked away, distraught.  
  
George held up a hand, his tired and aggrieved mind trying hard to focus on what he was learning. "Which is why Major Carter was irretrievably buried." His words caused a coldness in the pit of his stomach. "All of you, together, couldn't pull her out of the sinkhole. So far, you haven't provided much of a case for proving she survived."  
  
"General, the Stargate fell into a formation similar to a Karst cavern, here on Earth." Daniel explained. "It's a solution cavity formed below the Earth's surface when erosion dissolves water-soluble minerals in the more solid bedrock. The Gate on P4N was sitting on one of these Karst formations. The day before yesterday you opened the Gate several times and sent heavy excavation equipment through it. That would have caused a lot of vibrations through the ground, weakening the substructure under the Gate. When the quake hit--"  
  
"The ground collapsed under the Gate. I read the report, Doctor. How does this relate to Major Carter?"  
  
"The areas of exposed stones all share some rather unique similarities," Ryder answered. "They are all perfectly circular and are level with the surrounding topography. My theory is that over time something akin to a blister forms at the roof of some underground caverns. When these blisters break, the regolith falls through them. The flow continues until the cavity is completely filled."  
  
George sighed. "So I take it you believe Major Carter got pulled into one of these underground caverns through a blister?"  
  
Emma looked down, her face clearly disbelieving. "Yes," Daniel said with conviction.  
  
George gazed at the younger man sympathetically. "That doesn't mean she's alive, son."  
  
"True," he answered slowly, carefully. "But, there's another factor that we haven't considered yet."  
  
"And what is that, Doctor Jackson," George couldn't hide the impatience from his voice.  
  
Daniel turned to Ryder as he spoke to the General. "Could, ah...Doctor Fraiser and I have a word with you in private, Sir?"  
  
George nodded to the geologist. "Thank you for the information, Doctor Ryder. Try to get some rest," he said by way of dismissal. Ryder furrowed her brow, plainly curious as to what "other factor" there could possibly be. Reluctantly, she stood up and left the room. When the door closed behind her, George turned to Daniel, waiting for him to proceed. Daniel sat up straighter in his chair. He glanced over at Janet, then at George.  
  
"P2X-555."  
  
George sat back, totally surprised by this apparent tangent. He looked over at Doctor Fraiser who had been silent since the start of this discussion. His eyes narrowed. "What about it?"  
  
"Sam hasn't told Cassandra yet."  
  
George raised his chin as understanding registered. He looked directly at Janet as he continued to speak to Daniel. "And how do you know this?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Sir," Daniel said quickly. "I let it slip." Janet shot him a startled look. "I was trying to think of any reason why Sam could still be alive and, Janet and I were talking about Cassandra and how she was gonna take the news and...."  
  
"And so you told Doctor Fraiser." George glared at him. "Son, you know there are plenty of good reasons why you're not supposed to reveal classified information."  
  
"I know, Sir, but --"  
  
"Especially this kind of information," George exploded. He turned to Doctor Fraiser. "Exactly what do you know, Doctor?"  
  
Janet sat up straight and met her commanding officer's glare steadily. "That the mission to P2X-555 did not go as planned. That instead of arriving on that planet, SG-1 were sent to the future where they met my daughter, here, at the SGC, alive and well. That Major Carter was to tell Cassie what to do when she was old enough to understand."  
  
George worked his jaw a moment as he thought. "Maybe Major Carter already told her."  
  
"No." Janet said, too quickly. "She didn't."  
  
George's eyebrows shot up. "How do you know she didn't?"  
  
Janet swallowed. She glanced at Daniel for help.  
  
"Sam would have told us," Daniel interjected quickly. "I mean, me, or Jack, or you, definitely...you," he finished lamely. "Look, the point is," Daniel argued passionately, "We're here, in our time! Cassie sent us back. That means Sam has to be alive. Otherwise how is Sam going to tell Cassie what she has to do?"  
  
George looked from one intense face to the other, knowing there was more to this than either was willing to reveal. He frowned and stood up, going to the window that looked down on the Stargate. He felt an unreasonable surge of hope.  
  
Because of what had happened back in '69, a cocky, youthful George had taken a lot of risks, absolutely confident that his future had been mapped out for him. As he had matured and learned more about the subject, however, he had understood his foolhardiness. Time appeared to be malleable; the future, the present, even the past. Humans had no business mucking about with such things. That hadn't stopped him from doing a little mucking about of his own, though. He'd bent the rules wherever SG-1 was concerned, doing whatever it took to keep those four together long enough to fulfill their destiny, and his. He was still doing it; making allowances for his premier team was a habit hard to break.  
  
He shook his head at the thought that Sam Carter, of all people, had discussed the timeline. He had no doubt that it was she. He smiled sadly at her friend's naive confidence, that they wanted to cover for her, more concerned that Sam would be in trouble for her indiscretion than that she could be dead. After a long moment George sighed. "Whether Major Carter is alive or not, I'm afraid rescue is impossible at this time."  
  
"What!?" the two people behind him exclaimed in unison.  
  
"Even if Major Carter did survive, we have no way of getting help to her," he reasoned gruffly. "You know what the situation is with the Gate. You had enough trouble getting to it yourself. The Gate on P4N-285 is on its back and as it is, we've got a team off-world re-opening it every hour on the hour, just to keep it cleared of rubble until we can devise a way to get it out of the hole."  
  
"We should tell the Tok'Ra," Daniel urged. "They could send a ship."  
  
"I can't do that."  
  
"General, if Major Carter is alive --"  
  
"It's not my decision," he interrupted Janet. "The only reason we're trying to keep the Gate open on P4N-285 is because Washington still wants a shot at that ship."  
  
"And they don't want to share it with the Tok'Ra," Daniel said bitterly. "They'd rather let Sam die than lose the ship."  
  
"I understa--"  
  
"It's not like we're asking the Goa'uld, here. We're talking about the Tok'Ra. Last time I checked they were still our allies."  
  
"Doctor Jackson, --"  
  
"So, you're going to lie to her father, too? Tell Jacob his daughter died on...on what, some training mission?"  
  
Janet took his arm. "Daniel!"  
  
"That's the policy, isn't it? Lie to the family? You think that's going to work with Jacob? I thought he was your friend."  
  
"Doctor Jackson!" George swung around. The grief and anger on his face stopped the younger man cold.  
  
The two locked eyes, until Daniel finally looked away, ashamed. "I...I'm sorry," he murmured sincerely. "I.... General," he pleaded. "We can't just leave her there."  
  
George sighed heavily. "I'm sorry too, son. But I can't go to the President with this. If you'll recall, we all agreed that even the President and Joint Chiefs not be informed about your trip to the past. If Major Carter is alive, and I'm not convinced that she is, then she's going to have to take care of herself for the time being."  
  
"Sir,--"  
  
"Dismissed," he said, making it clear that the discussion was closed. Then his tone softened. "Get some sleep. I'll call a briefing as soon as Colonel O'Neill is released from the infirmary. We'll see what we can come up with."  
  
  
  
Long after the others had left him, George remained at the window, staring out at the quiet Gate. Wide awake, now, he let hope rise in him, despite what he had said. Was it possible? Could Sam Carter have beaten the odds yet again? "I hope to god your friends are right, Sam," he said softly. "But you're going to have to hang on. This could take awhile."  
  
____________________  
  
  
  
"Chevron five, engaged," Sergeant Davis said.  
  
For the past three days, ever since the two SG teams had returned minus their seconds in command, a team had been sent off-world with no other mission than to keep the fallen Gate on P4N-285 cleared of rubble. They did that by establishing a wormhole to the Gate and keeping it open for thirty-eight minutes once every hour. This time, though, it was the SGC that was dialing P4N-285.  
  
Everett Siler sat at the UAV remote control station in the control room. A helicopter version of the UAV squatted on a platform in the Gate room, ready to embark on its maiden voyage through the Stargate. The helicopter had been outfitted with equipment that would activate the sensory instruments on the tethered balloon. It also had a ground- penetrating infrared scanner. Everett would fly the Unmanned Airborne Vehicle via remote control, following the same route they had traversed on foot, three days earlier. Today, the scanner had only one purpose - to pick up a heat-signature: the Major's.  
  
"Chevron six, engaged."  
  
Everett turned on the UAV's internal systems and its electric engine. The propellers started spinning, picking up full rotational speed in seconds. The little 'copter rose from it's mooring and hovered patiently while, from his station, Everett activated the systems strapped to its underbelly. All systems looked good.  
  
"Chevron seven, locked," Davis' even voice rang out.  
  
Everett kept his eyes on the controls, working the joystick carefully, squeezing rather than pushing it, coaxing just a little movement from the 'copter as he aligned it with the cross-hairs on the screen. The rotating blades on the helicopter were only twenty centimeters shorter than the inside diameter of the Stargate. That didn't leave Everett with a lot of room to maneuver.  
  
Slowly the 'copter climbed the ramp and hovered a moment, appearing to hesitate in front of the singularity as though in awe of it, just as every first-time traveler did. Then, as Everett adjusted its position, it slipped safely through the shimmering wall, and disappeared.  
  
Sergeant Davis calmly began his countdown. "Object should reach destination in five, four...." Everett remembered to breathe. "Three, two, one."  
  
Almost instantly an infrared image formed on the screen before him as the 'copter rose vertically from the fallen Gate on P4N-285, showing seven points of red on a black ring, encircling an even deeper shade of black - the wormhole.  
  
The 'copter shot upwards, wasting no time in clearing the hole. Stones were still falling into the pit and Everett didn't want to risk damaging his precious toy. "UAV's out of danger, Sirs," he reported.  
  
"Let's have a look," the General commanded.  
  
Everett lowered the 'copter back down to the mouth of the hole and switched on the digital camera attached to its front, tilting the lens to sweep the interior of the hole where the Gate lay. He was taken aback by how much the hole had changed.  
  
  
  
The cavern the Gate had fallen into was enormous. SG teams one and eleven had had to rappel down forty meters from the surface to the cavern floor, and the cavern had extended into tunnels that went well beyond the reach of their powerful flashlights. Yet now, a mere three days later, the area surrounding the Gate was covered in small mountains of stone that reached almost halfway to the surface. Colonel O'Neill reached forward and tapped a finger onto the screen. "Zoom in here." Everett obliged, zooming in on a layer of substrata roughly five meters below the surface.  
  
"Well I'll be damned," the General exclaimed softly. Everett nodded, unable to tear his eyes from the image of the wall of moving stones. Colonel Jones had called it right; the stones did act like they were on a conveyor belt, converging on the hole from all sides, vibrating as they rolled against each other and then falling when they passed the threshold of solid ground at the lip of the hole.  
  
The wall of moving stones was emptying itself into the cavity below at a rate that was, in geological terms, frighteningly fast. If it weren't for the fact that they were constantly re-opening the Gate, it would by now be irretrievable.  
  
"Wormhole has been active for ninety seconds, Sir" Sergeant Davis reminded the General. The wormhole could only be kept open for thirty- eight minutes, and they had a lot of ground to cover, so Hammond gave the command and Everett took the 'copter up and headed it toward the sunken ship. Within minutes the 'copter covered the same distance that had taken them hours to traverse on foot.  
  
The room fell silent as all eyes searched the screen for the warm colors that would indicate Major Carter's presence. From its altitude, the 'copter could cover a wide swath of land without sacrificing speed. Occasionally, tiny smudges of deep red color showed up on the infrared images, the little creatures indigenous to the planet, but nothing big enough to be a human, either above or below ground. "Not a trace." Doctor Jackson said in dismay.  
  
Everett frowned. What, really, were they expecting? Major Carter was dead. Even if her body was right under the scanner, it would not pick up a heat-signature. Not after three days.  
  
In good time the UAV arrived at its official destination. The orange blimp of the tethersonde came into view, still in the air, though it had lost altitude as the gas holding it aloft slowly ozmosed through its thin skin.  
  
The wreckage caused by the quake was as they had left it. Rodents scurried away from the pile of alien rubbish at the 'copter's approach. Everett noted with relief the flashing green light on the naquadah reactor he had set up three days ago to power the equipment. It was still functioning normally.  
  
"UAV has arrived at the site, Sirs," Everett said unnecessarily.  
  
"Wormhole has been open for thirty-two minutes, nineteen seconds," Davis reported.  
  
"Will you have time, Sergeant?"  
  
"I will, Sir," Everett said, his voice confident. He set about remotely calibrating the signals on the tethered equipment with the instrument package lashed under the copter. The control room was silent as Everett worked, trying to get everything accomplished before the Gate shut down and he lost control of his craft. He would only get one shot at this. If he was unable to establish a link between the balloon and the MALP near the Gate, he would not be able to resume radio-control of the UAV when the Gate re-opened.  
  
"Link established, Sirs," he said finally.  
  
"Seventy seconds to shutdown."  
  
"Get as much data as you can while the link is up, Sergeant," Hammond said to Davis.  
  
Everett set the instrument package down gently on the ground beside the naquadah reactor and released the clamps holding it to the 'copter, then he found a space to land the little UAV. He switched off the engine. Six seconds later, the Gate shut down.  
  
"Re-open the Gate to P4N-285." Hammond commanded. He turned to Everett. "Good work, Sergeant. Now, I don't suppose you have any ideas on how to get the Gate out of that hole?"  
  
Everett shook his head. "Not yet, Sir, but we're working on it."  
  
The General nodded. "Good. Keep me informed. Making the Gate passable is our top priority at this time." He watched as the General and O'Neill locked eyes. "I'll be damned if I let two fine officers die for nothing. We are going to get that ship."  
  
Colonel O'Neill's expression was wooden. He nodded once. Everett watched the exchange between the two officers: the deep regret in their eyes, as though an expectation had been dashed. General Hammond left the control room.  
  
Teal'c and Doctor Jackson closed ranks around the Colonel. "Okay, so what do we do now?" Doctor Jackson asked.  
  
The Colonel looked at Everett. "Bring the 'copter back to base," he commanded quietly. "Let's work on getting that Gate up."  
  
"Jack."  
  
"Daniel!" The men stared at each other, locked in a wordless battle Everett had often witnessed between the two. It was a sure bet the Colonel would be winning this one. Colonel O'Neill's voice was gruff. "We have our orders."  
  
The wormhole re-established. Everett turned away from the battle of wills, back to his station. He re-activated the UAV, smiling broadly when the little craft responded immediately. As it rose into the air, he felt a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"Head back in an arc," Colonel O'Neill said. "Let's cover some new ground, you know, follow the flow of the gravel."  
  
Everett looked up at the Colonel. "I can't take her too far off course, Sir," he reminded him. "The UAV has to stay within range of the radio."  
  
O'Neill nodded. "Just, take it out as far as you can, Sergeant."  
  
Everett turned back to his console and, shaking his head once, he pointed the 'copter toward the south-east, turning the infrared scanner on once again in a futile search for something he knew could not be found.  
  
It was true, SG-1 had gotten themselves out of some impossible situations in the past. He had learned from experience not to write any one of them off merely because the situation appeared hopeless. But this time....  
  
"We're following a river, right?" Everett acknowledged Doctor Jackson's question with a nod.  
  
"And the river runs by the ship, right?"  
  
"One corner of the ship is partially submerged in it." Teal'c said.  
  
"So?" Colonel O'Neill asked.  
  
"So, Sam could've made it to the ship," Daniel surmised, his voice hopeful.  
  
"Daniel, get real!" the Colonel snapped angrily.  
  
Everett couldn't believe what he was hearing. Doctor Jackson was in denial, big time. It wasn't like Everett didn't care that she had died, he had always liked the Major, had considered her a friend. They even shared a common interest outside of their work at the SGC: a passion for motorcycles. But he had been there when the planet had swallowed her up. She was gone.  
  
"If you're thinking the Major may have ended up in the water and that it carried her to the ship, Doctor Jackson, I have to tell you that's very unlikely."  
  
"Why?" Daniel asked, his tone challenging.  
  
Everett persisted. "Even if she could have survived being buried and found a way into the same cavern this river is in, it would have been a long drop to the cavern floor. She probably wouldn't have survived the fall."  
  
"But it is not impossible." Teal'c persisted.  
  
"Ah, for cryin' out loud, Teal'c, not you, too," the Colonel muttered, clearly troubled by the conversation.  
  
Against his better judgment, Everett pressed home his point. "Even if she could've survived the fall, that water's cold. She wouldn't have lasted for long in there, and the ship is about ten kliks from where she- -"  
  
"Look, all of you, cut it out!" the Colonel ordered harshly.  
  
Everett concentrated on his flying. Here's a novel idea, Siler, he thought to himself. Why don't you just shut up and do as you're told.  
  
The control room filled with an uncomfortable silence that accompanied the 'copter's uneventful trip back to the Gate.  
  
~~~  
  
Daniel sat on the sidelines, watching Jack stare out the control-room window at the active Gate. The slump of his shoulders told Daniel that his friend was dying inside. Again. What little hope Daniel had managed to give him had evaporated with that lousy helicopter flight and Siler's dammed pessimism. The man hardly ever spoke at all. Why'd he have to pick today to be so talkative? Daniel frowned and shook his head. Where was Jack's eternal optimism? Where was the Jack who was so fond of saying: "We've been in situations way worse than this before."  
  
Jack never gave up. Why was he doing it now? C'mon, this was Sam! She could think her way out of anything. True, she was alone, this time, but just because she was on a different planet, didn't mean she was really alone. She'd only be alone if her friends gave up on her.  
  
The helpless inactivity made Daniel restless. He agreed that securing the Gate was important, how else were they going to get Sam out of there? He just wished he could do something to put the hope back into Jack.  
  
He looked around the control room as though a solution could be hiding behind one of the computers. Many of the monitors showed progress bars as they downloaded information from the tethered balloon on P4N: monitoring equipment that would have recorded any developments from the sky or from underground.  
  
Underground? Daniel turned to Sergeant Davis. "I want to help," he said briskly. "Can I get a look at what's been downloaded so far?"  
  
Walter Davis pointed to a computer console and said: "You can access the first data dump from there. I'll set it up for you." He typed in a command on his own keyboard. "It should be up now."  
  
"Thanks," he said, and slid into the chair. "How do I see inside the ship?" he asked. He did not miss the knowing glances that Siler and Davis exchanged.  
  
"Use the function keys." Davis listed off the keys for the various information-gathering devices on the tethersonde. Daniel hit F5 for the infrared scanner on the tethersonde that was aimed at the ship.  
  
"How old is this information?"  
  
"Eight hours, tops," Davis answered distractedly, busy with a dozen different tasks that suddenly demanded his attention. "There isn't enough memory in the camera to store more than that. Then it starts recording all over again in a loop."  
  
  
  
Daniel studied the screen. Sam was nowhere to be found between the sinkhole and the ship. That meant that if she was alive, she had to have gotten on board, somehow. His jaw clenched as he tried to block out what Sergeant Siler had told them. The rational side of him admitted that so many obstacles made her survival highly unlikely.  
  
But, it was not impossible.  
  
Teal'c was right, Daniel thought. To hell with rational thinking. Where had that ever gotten them? What if Teal'c had done the rational thing on Chulak, and had remained loyal to his god and his way of life, rather than to side with three, unarmed prisoners from Earth? What if Daniel had been thinking rationally when the Gate had malfunctioned, marooning Sam and Jack in Antarctica? Had Sam been thinking rationally when she went back for Jack, alone, into Hathor's lair, even though she knew full well that he had a Goa'uld? Weren't those impossible situations? How was this any different?  
  
Daniel clung to Teal'c's words as he scanned the exterior of the ship. All was as it had been the first time they had seen the image. The exterior gave off only the faintest traces of heat from whatever energy field surrounded it.  
  
He switched to the ship's interior. The colors were warmer inside the ship, more orange than yellow. A little more orange than before, perhaps, or was that just wishful thinking? He cycled through the rooms on the vast ship, looking for a tell-tale smudge of dark red against ghostly white - a smudge that would indicate a warm, living being.  
  
Sam had to be alive. Teal'c and he willed her to be. And dammit, Jack, Daniel growled inwardly, what's wrong with you? Whatever happened to "where there's a will...there's a...there's a....  
  
"Ohmygod!" Daniel froze, staring at the monitor in wide-eyed amazement. "Jaaack!"  
  
Before he got the word out Jack and Teal'c were by his side. There, moving about on the ship, was a dark-red smudge.  
  
***  
  
  
  
Teal'c! Oh god! Help me!  
  
Entombed. No room to move, to breathe, to scream. Sam's every nerve and muscle convulsed with an energy suffocating for expression. Hard stone ground against soft flesh as the planet dragged her down, away from help. Out of reach.  
  
Teal'c! Don't leave me!  
  
He was just there, hanging over the edge of the hole, his large hand welded to hers. He looked so afraid, so helpless.  
  
Teal'c! Don't let go!  
  
Then he was gone. Sam couldn't see him, couldn't feel his hand, couldn't sense his symbiote.  
  
Oh god! Don't leave me, Teal'c, please!  
  
  
  
The stones, like an unstoppable army of ants, carried their stricken burden deeper and deeper underground. Panic surged in Sam. It became her new champion. It shook her firmly, allowing no acceptance of the fact that she was drowning in stone. Her toes wriggled inside her boots, the only space that still allowed for movement. After an eternity, the pressure eased against her ankles. They jerked madly from side to side as Panic pressed them into the fight. Little by little, the planet lost its hold around her legs until her knees, and then her hips were free. She dangled over empty air, bucking and thrashing wildly.  
  
Sam dropped from her would be tomb, breaking her fall on a mountain of moving stones. She landed on her back, knocking the stale breath from her lungs, and sucked in fresh air in great, painful gasps. Stones poured from the hole and pelted her from overhead. She twisted onto her side in an effort to protect herself. The freshly fallen spheres fell away under her in an avalanche, pulling her down with it. She slid, tumbling end over end atop the stampede of stones, until empty air found her again.  
  
A new sensation assaulted her: an icy, fluid silence held her in suspension as Sam hit the water, feet first. She floated downward, arms above her head, sinking like the stones that fell with her. One way or another, the planet seemed bent on drowning her.  
  
The shock of the cold water was too much, and Sam's body shut down. Panic abandoned her, submitting itself to the voice inside her mind: "Relax now, it's over. It almost doesn't hurt anymore."  
  
Sam knew a moment of languorous peace as a vision, like a waking dream, filled it. A sweet, soft voice sang with a purity that reminded Sam of the tinkling of little bells:  
  
~~ To every thing, turn, turn, turn,  
  
There is a season, turn, turn, turn,  
  
And a time to every purpose under heaven.  
  
A time to be born, a time to die. ~~  
  
A kitchen window with a white dentelle curtain. A sunbeam shone through the spaces in the dentelle, laying cut-outs of shadow and light across her hands. Sam's hands plunged into a sink full of warm, soapy water and pulled a plate from it. One hand held a sponge and she swiped it over the plate, clearing away the suds and revealing the lovely blue-willow pattern beneath. Her mother's sweet voice hung in the air as she sang a favorite folk song.  
  
~~ A time to break up, a time to break down. ~~  
  
Near-death offered a clarity that sharpened every detail of the scene for her. Her mother's hand reached into the drying rack and took a dish from it, shook it once and started to wipe it dry. Sam was mesmerized as she watched her mother's hands methodically circle the inside of the plate, round and round.  
  
~~ Turn, turn, turn. ~~  
  
Of all the memories of her short but incredible life, Sam's mind had picked this most banal of scenes to soothe her, and help her accept her fate.  
  
~~ A time to gain, a time to lose. ~~  
  
Her mother was here. The pain and the fear were gone. Sam gave herself up to the comfort that dying offered. She took a deep, contended breath - and choked violently as water entered her nostrils.  
  
The vision disappeared as Panic regained control, bullying her unresponsive legs into motion, forcing them out of their torpor. Clumsily they propelled her upwards. Sam broke the surface coughing and sputtering, desperate for air. The strong current kept pulling her down. She struggled to find the surface in the inky blackness. Her hand breached the water. It was met by solid rock - the river had gouged a tunnel right through the limestone, creating its own path through the underworld. She scrabbled desperately, futilely seeking purchase on the rough ceiling as it rushed over her fingers. The ceiling remained above Sam for some ways, and she strove to keep her face in the air pockets between the water's surface and the rock face. In some places, without warning, the rock face dipped low and was completely submerged. The water rushed forward. Helpless, Sam went where it took her.  
  
Rationality fled, burrowing itself as deeply within her as she was within the planet. Instinct took over, drawing on the experience of her military survival training, as well as its own, superior, primal fight mechanism. "Back arched, head back, chin up," it said. "Ride the water, don't fight it. Breathe."  
  
Minutes, seconds, cold, warmth, darkness, light; the concepts were meaningless here. Instinct ignored them, favoring the only ones that were vital for survival: Back arched, head back, chin up. Ride the water. Breathe.  
  
  
  
When, finally, awareness returned to her, Sam found herself pushed up against an obstacle in the water that had stopped her progress down the river. Her uninjured hand was tightly wrapped around something above her head and she was trying to pull herself upright.  
  
She thrashed about weakly with her legs, trying to gain a foothold against the obstacle. One foot found a surface and she stood, leaning face-forward against the wall, letting the force of the rushing water hold her in place. She rested against the wall, indifferent to the change in her situation, too pre-occupied with simply breathing to care. No sooner had she mastered breathing when her body began to shake and her teeth to chatter. Shock, exploiting the moment of respite, set in with a vengeance.  
  
Instinctively, she pulled herself upwards, groping for handholds. Then, a glimmer of realization struck her. A whimper rattled in her throat as Sam felt around, blind in the darkness, but clearly seeing it with her mind's eye. The ship! She was on one of the catwalks that ringed its exterior.  
  
Hope took over now, helping her inch forward on the wet slope, out of the frigid water. Blindly, she climbed as though scaling a rock-face, one handed. Her other hand was broken, her arm, useless, hung from her dislocated shoulder. She searched for footholds, securing her booted feet amid pipes and other alien protuberances in the wall before releasing her good hand and reaching higher. She knew that somewhere above her loomed a corridor, a way into the ship, and she focused her energy on reaching it.  
  
The pyramid's slope tilted inward as well as upward, allowing her short rests as she climbed. After what seemed like hours, she reached the ledge that was actually a wall of the ship's corridor. Hopefully the corridor lead to a way into the ship. Sam groped the smooth wall, looking for a handhold. It took a few tries, but finally she was able to get herself over the ledge.  
  
A single, cold light shone in the blackness. Sam could not judge whether it was close by or far off in the distance, for the light threw no beam across the void. Slowly, carefully, she inched toward the beacon, her back pressed against the sharp downward tilt of the corridor wall. Finally, she reached the light. With a shaking hand, she touched the glowing circular pad.  
  
The wall at Sam's back opened with a soft hiss and she fell through it. She crumpled to the floor, her hand feebly scraping against its smooth surface in an effort to slow her sliding descent. She came to a final, jarring halt against a wall. Golden hieroglyphs danced before her blurred vision.  
  
I'm in!  
  
She passed out.  
  
_______________  
  
  
  
Teal'c!  
  
She saw him, his eyes, wide with terror, holding tightly to her hand. He withdrew his hand as the escape pod's hatch closed over her, cutting her off from him, swallowing her in crushing darkness.  
  
Entombed, Sam drilled violently through the atmosphere of Netu. Her bones rattled in the claustrophobic space as the small craft shook, throttling her against the bulwarks. Teal'c had warned that the ride would not be smooth.  
  
Teal'c!  
  
She whimpered in fear. The noise, the shaking, the darkness, the pain: they were unbearable. Why had he put her in this thing? Why had he let her go?  
  
"Teal'c!"  
  
Sam opened her eyes with a start. Her heart hammered in her chest, her breath, rapid and shallow. She was disoriented by the change of scenery: the silence, the stillness, the light.  
  
Pain. Everything hurt. That hadn't changed.  
  
She blinked, letting her eyes adjust to the bright sheen of the golden, hieroglyph filled walls. A quake must have triggered the familiar nightmare of her descent onto Netu. She was on P4N-285, inside a buried Goa'uld warship, and this nightmare was no dream.  
  
Her body was wedged tightly against the wall. The shoulder that bore her weight throbbed intensely. She had to get off it. Sam tried not to think of what she was about to inflict on herself. She took a calming breath, and pushed against the wall, twisting onto her stomach. She screamed as she rolled over and her injured shoulder slammed against the floor. Sam's vision darkened and she lay there a moment, gasping, fighting to stay conscious. The pain was fiercely insistent and soon Sam had to try to move again.  
  
Leaning as much of her weight as she could against her good shoulder, Sam carefully pulled her knees up under her body, sobbing unashamedly with every torturous movement. She pushed up from the floor with her good hand and propelled herself to a kneeling position, her back against the wall. She knelt there a moment, shaking violently, sucking air in raspy, shuddering gasps, until the pain drove her to her feet.  
  
Sam rested against the sharply canted wall. Fighting the nausea and dizziness, she tried to marshal her thoughts enough to assess her situation. Her passage though the planet had stripped her naked from the ankles up. She still had her boots, and, amazingly, her belt. What was left of her pants hung in tatters around the belt still secured around her waist. Her body was covered in contusions, scrapes and deep cuts that had re-opened and were bleeding again from her efforts to stand. Her right side hurt the most. Her misshapen hand sported several broken bones, and the pain from her shoulder was incredible. She felt like the prime exhibit from a Jaffa torture seminar.  
  
Teal'c. Had he been pulled into the hole after her? Had the others survived? She remembered them, hovering above her at the edge of the sinkhole, holding tightly onto Teal'c. Had everybody been pulled in? Were they all dead? Sam leaned her head against the wall and choked back a fresh wave of panic. No! She couldn't afford to think like this. The others had managed to get away. They would have found a way to get home. They'd think she was dead, but, they'd still want the ship. They'd come for the ship and find her already inside.  
  
But when? General Hammond wouldn't be in such a hurry anymore. He would pull back, re-assess the situation, not wanting to put any more lives needlessly at risk. The quakes would force them to take the time to formulate a better, safer plan. How long would all that take? A week? A month? A year? She had to get in touch with the SGC. The radio. Maybe she could get a message to the surface. If anyone was still around, they'd find a way to come for her. They always did.  
  
Having a plan of action helped Sam regain a measure of control. The first thing she had to do was support her injured arm. She reached down to her waist and unfastened the web belt. Her fingers shook so hard she could barely control them enough to work the buckle. It took some doing, but finally Sam was able to use the belt and what little remained of her pants to fashion a brace, strapping her injured arm securely against her chest. The pain didn't lessen, but at least she wouldn't do her shoulder joint further damage. She was thankful she hadn't lost her boots. They would provide traction on the steeply sloping floor.  
  
She took in her surroundings. Directly across and uphill from her was the door that had let her in. It had closed, apparently of its own accord. The walls to either side of it were crowded with machines and equipment. Consoles, streamlined and efficient-looking, went on in a repeating pattern as far along the wall as she could see.  
  
Gunnery level  
  
  
  
Dead Tok'Ra memory was a funny thing. Most of the time, before the memory device had been used on her, Jolinar's "memories" came to Sam as images that flashed unbidden into her mind, vivid, but confusing. At other times, the memories came to her simply as knowledge, as was the case this time.  
  
In an instant Sam recognized the functions of the consoles before her, with their corresponding gun turrets mounted outside. The catwalk she had climbed was directly beneath those turrets. Without having to examine the consoles, she simply "knew" that they had no external communications devices; only shipboard communication took place from these consoles.  
  
Sam closed her eyes and tried to remember the ship's layout from the scans. The ship had a total of three catwalks ringing its perimeter: one on the first level, above ground floor, one midway up the pyramid and one near the apex. Gunnery level was just above ground floor. The Pel'tac, or command center of the ship was on the eighth level. That was where the comm. device was likely to be. She grimaced. It would be a long climb.  
  
She lay a long time against the wall, trying to conjure up a vision of ship's life from Jolinar's memories, hopefully giving her a clue as to what her next move should be. On rare occasions, especially since her mission to Netu and the prolonged use of the memory device, Sam could nudge a Tok'Ra memory to the surface. Some of those times, the memory proved helpful to her situation. More often, it was not. "Come on, Jolinar," she cajoled aloud, "help me out, here."  
  
A scene flashed before her consciousness, lasting only a second, but, like a bolt of lightning, illuminating everything within it. Sam's body stilled, her pain momentarily forgotten as she focused on remembering.  
  
Tok'Ra, everywhere, some sitting at consoles similar to the ones lining the wall, others, hurrying from one task to another. All of them she recognized. Most of them had long ago died and turned to dust. This was a very old memory. Voices, confident and strong. There was an aura of tension, of an enemy engaged. Though the words were mostly gibberish to Sam, she sensed that the battle was going well for them.  
  
Then it was gone, the wisp of a memory offering no help for Sam's present situation. She tried again; tried to focus on what crew quarters would look like, where medical help would be located, but Jolinar would not oblige her. She was on her own.  
  
Okay, think, Carter. The scans showed stairwells connecting each level. There should be one at the end of the room. Crew quarters wouldn't be far from battle stations. Probably just one flight up. You can do one flight.  
  
She pushed away from the wall and headed left along it, stumbling forward with an awkward limp, her left foot coming to rest in the V where the floor met the wall, her right knee bent as her foot came to rest on the angled floor. It was like walking across a very wide slide or the sloped floor in a circus fun house, except that there was nothing fun about this.  
  
Coming to a break in the wall, Sam peered around the corner. She gasped in awe. The room this wall opened into was a vast, open, airy plaza. It looked like a beautiful park, complete with silvery watercourses and winding paths. Looking up, Sam saw that some of the ship's upper levels opened onto the plaza. The high ceiling was painted a bright blue, the color of robin eggs and gave Sam the impression that she was actually looking outdoors. The only thing missing was life, for no plants grew from the ornate pots that dotted the plaza or hung from the balconies of the upper levels, and no water filled the pools or ran in its silvery streams. There were no people.  
  
Beautiful as it was, the plaza presented a serious problem for Sam. The floor canted downward at roughly a thirty degree angle. She was stuck. If she left the support of her wall, she would certainly fall and roll down the steep incline. The lovely furnishings of the plaza would become deadly obstacles. In her present condition, she knew she would not get up again.  
  
She studied the wall, looking for a way to close the gap - a mechanism - a hieroglyph that might yield to her touch. The Serpent glyph had done the trick on Apophis's ship. Her finger traced along the wall until she found the serpent in the repeating pattern of glyphs, but it wouldn't budge.  
  
Sam studied the glyphs, wishing she knew more about who they represented. She could eliminate a few, at least. The eye of Ra, Apophis' serpent, the cow-head of Hathor, the strange beast that symbolized Seth, the bird-beaks of Horus. That left only about a dozen or so that were in a reasonably good position to act as doorknob. A woman kneeling before a sheaf of wheat, a hand with an eye nested in its palm, a feather, a dog-man. None of them worked. Sam came across a symbol that resembled an ankh only longer, like a staff. Instead of one line cutting straight across the staff, there were three, slanted at an angle. She touched it. The symbol moved under her hand and she was rewarded with the sound of stone against stone as the door descended, turning the forbidding opening into a nice, secure wall.  
  
"Yes!"  
  
Sam continued her journey, heartened by the small victory. In time she made it to the end of the room where she thought the stairwell had to be. She touched the Ankh and the door hissed open.  
  
Light flooded the stairwell the moment Sam stuck her head inside. She made a face at the steep climb ahead of her. Getting to the steps had been tricky enough, climbing them would be another matter entirely.  
  
The first part of the climb was awkward. The wall canted inward as well as upward, which meant the steps themselves canted downward. Fortunately, a handrail had been inset into the wall and Sam used it to climb, slowly hitching upwards, one step at a time. Twice, she slipped on the steeply inclined steps, exacerbating the wounds on her already damaged shins.  
  
A landing was at the half-way point and, exhausted, Sam used it to rest. The pain was constant and she had been going for hours without a break. She closed her eyes and fell instantly asleep.  
  
When she awoke, Sam had no idea how much time had elapsed. She was desperately thirsty and her muscles were stiff. The pain in her right side was intolerable. New scabs had formed over her wounds, and she judged by their dryness that she must have slept for several hours. She grimaced at the morbidity of using her wounds as a timepiece, but she had lost her watch along with her clothes.  
  
She steeled herself for the task ahead, hoping that the next level would hold more promise than the one she had left. It had to. She needed water and medical attention. Stiffly, she got up, and inched her way round to the handrail.  
  
The stairs doubled-back for the last part of the climb, which hadn't gotten any easier after her rest. The crazy tilt of the stairs and her useless right arm meant that she had to go up facing backwards. Sam felt queasy as she looked down at the stair's weird angle.  
  
Finally she made it to the door on the next level. Light illuminated the corridor that stretched out the length of the ship. Doorways interspersed the corridor wall opposite and slightly above Sam. She ground her teeth in frustration, wondering if Ptah had arranged his ship to rest at this damned angle just to discourage interlopers.  
  
A doorway stood closed on the wall opposite her. Sam studied it carefully, locating the glyph that would open the door. She would have to climb an expanse of about three meters on a thirty degree slope to get to it, then activate the door mechanism and wait for it to open, then, climb through it to get into whatever lay beyond.  
  
Leaning forward until her upper body was nearly parallel to the floor, Sam began the sharp ascent, grateful for the traction her boots provided. One small, careful step...balance. Another small step...watch it, lean a little to the right.... Whoa! Hold it. Another step, and another, until she finally made it to the door. Slowly, without moving the rest of her body, Sam raised her hand and sought the glyph with her fingers. The door whooshed open. Sam raised her head slightly to look inside.  
  
"Yes!"  
  
She had found what had to be crew quarters. She resumed her cautious climb, using the door sill to pull herself forward. When at last she entered the room and resealed the door, she was shaking uncontrollably.  
  
Sam looked around. The crew-men sharing this cubicle had obviously re- arranged the furniture to accommodate the ship's steep incline. A treaded mat overlaid the floor. Sam guessed it had been added after the ship had sank. Sam spied a tiny alcove that looked like it could be a kitchenette. Immediately, she started the climb toward it, hoping to find water.  
  
The climb was delightfully easy thanks to the ladder-like treads. The alcove had a bare counter with a basin of some kind of porous stone set in it. Her hands felt around for a water source. None was apparent. She touched the stone basin. Immediately, water welled up into it. Sam pulled her hand away in surprise. The moment she let go of the basin the water stilled. She touched it again. The water resumed its ascent, stopping automatically as it reached a point below the lip of the basin.  
  
Sam cupped her hand and brought water to her mouth. The scant sip drove all restraint from her and she plunged her face into the basin, sucking in the precious liquid greedily until the need to breathe forced her to pull back.  
  
As she stood catching her breath, the water drained from the basin and a flash from above filled it momentarily with a blue light. Sam peered up into the alcove, looking for the light source, frowning when she saw nothing. She looked at the basin. It was clean and dry. She touched it again, and was re-assured when water re-filled it, clean and pure.  
  
Nice!  
  
Sam knew that Teal'c was fastidiously clean, and guessed that, for the Jaffa, cleanliness must be next to godliness. She'd definitely have to check out the bathing facilities while on board.  
  
Feeling somewhat refreshed from her drink, she explored the rest of the room. It was small and sparse, and, like the rest of the ship, immaculately clean. Framing the walls were brightly painted borders decorated with hieroglyphs. There were two other doors, aside from the one she had used to enter the room. Sam went to the nearest one and found the bathroom. It was easily twice as large as the living quarters but not nearly as plain. More of the same hieroglyphs bordered its walls, but lovely painted panels filled the spaces that had been left white in the "living area." Tropical trees, exotic birds and animals, bronze-toned people - men, women and children - adorned the panels in such bright and lively colors that Sam was spellbound. They looked freshly painted. Lovely urns of various sizes dotted the room, standing level against the floor's tilt. They were nested in wedge-shaped supports whose apparent purpose had been to keep the urns upright and intact through several millennia of quakes.  
  
A privacy screen divided the toilet from the bathing area. The simplicity of the toilet seemed incongruous with the rest of the room's decor. It was little more than a hole in the floor. Sam spared a grin for the metal hand and footholds that had no doubt been bolted into the floor and wall around the hole since the ship had come to rest on its side.  
  
Set into the floor at the center of the bathing area was a large stone basin similar to the one in the kitchenette. Resembling the hot tubs on Earth, it was deep and a seating ledge ringed the inside of it. Upright, it could easily accommodate four adults. Tilted, it provided room for only one.  
  
Sam sat at the lip of the canted basin and touched the inside. Water dutifully welled up from the bottom, quickly filling the tub. She put her hand into it and grimaced. It was cooler than she would have liked, but, she knew, better for her wounds. Taking off her boots, she climbed gingerly inside the tub. She set her teeth, gasping as the cool water rose around her injuries. Bubbles formed as the water swirled, washing away the caked blood and the grime. The filth disappeared into the miraculous stone and clean water cycled back to her. Sam ducked her head under the water and gently massaged the matted blood from her scalp.  
  
She stayed in for as long as she could stand it. The cool water felt invigorating to her fevered flesh and helped numb the sting of her deep scrapes. When she climbed out, the water receded into the stone and blue light engulfed both the basin and Sam as well.  
  
The warm glow from the light dried her skin and hair, and as it lingered, she felt a lessening of tension in her body. When the light vanished, it took her pain with it.  
  
Surprised, she looked up. The light was housed in a ring formation in the ceiling, and reminded Sam of transport ring housing. When the light ceased, the ceiling looked blank. Sam luxuriated in the absence of pain. Is this what Teal'c was used to? What she wouldn't do to have facilities like this on base.  
  
She left the bathroom feeling invigorated. Her injuries hadn't healed, but they were clean and dry and the pain was gone. Sam supposed that the light's effects were mainly analgesic and that the relief it provided would be temporary. Still, she was grateful for the respite.  
  
Continuing her investigation of the room, Sam looked for something she could use as a weapon. Accommodating as he might be, Sam had a Goa'uld to kill. She approached the other door, wondering what surprises awaited behind it, and found a walk-in closet, illuminated by the ship's ubiquitous lighting system.  
  
Clothing, neatly folded, lined the shelves, while other articles hung from pegs on the wall. She gasped in open admiration. The ship had been buried for ten thousand years, yet everything looked and smelled fresh. She hadn't seen dust or debris of any kind, anywhere on the ship, either. What a prize this ship was. What kind of Goa'uld would have built it? What was it Teal'c had said about the Goa'uld, Amon-Ptah? He was reputed as being benevolent, both toward the Goa'uld and toward his slaves. So far she hadn't seen anything to challenge that reputation.  
  
The clothing was mostly white with some muted, earthy tones. Sam ran a hand over the fabric. It felt soft, like a linen/silk blend, and she wondered if the cloth was actually of some more durable, alien weave. There was female as well as male garb, indicating co-ed accommodations. Accessories too, as a small assortment of pins, hairpieces and scarves revealed. Unfortunately, nothing was in her size, being better suited to Emma Ryder's large frame.  
  
There was no armor of any kind, and no weapons. Perhaps these were not Jaffa quarters after all. Lower-caste Goa'uld quarters? A guest suite?  
  
Sam reluctantly put aside the airy, flowing feminine garments for a simple pull-on shirt that went to mid-thigh on her. It was several times too large for her, but a sash, wrapped twice around her waist and tied one-handed, helped keep the over-sized shirt in place. Sam spied a piece of jewelry among the accessories: a pale blue, exquisitely cut sapphire, set in a beautifully crafted gold filigree. More importantly, the brooch had a clasp that she could use to gather the shirt at the front, thus preventing the wide neck from slipping off her relatively slight shoulders.  
  
She stared at the monstrosity standing in the mirror before her, and twittered hysterically at the absurdity of her get-up. With her cuts and bruises, she looked like a dog's favorite Barbie-doll chew-toy, dressed in a muumuu and army boots. She would have to find something more her size before rescue. She wouldn't want to be caught dead in this.  
  
Rescue. Her laughter died. Where were the others? Were they all right, or were they even worse off than she was?  
  
  
  
There was nothing else in the small quarters that might be of use to her: no weapons or tools of any kind - not so much as a butter knife. No butter, for that matter, or anything that might pass as food. That wasn't a pressing matter at the moment, Sam wasn't that hungry, though she suspected it was the analgesic effect of the healing light that had suppressed the pangs. She made one more stop at the basin in the kitchenette and drank as much water as she could hold, then set out to find the radio, and hopefully, call home.  
  
  
  
The third and forth levels housed more crew quarters that resembled the first one she had found, confirming that these were basic accommodations. All-in-all, she decided, the living conditions on board were first-rate.  
  
While investigating the fourth level, Sam opened a doorway onto a balcony. It looked down into the plaza on level one. Brightness, diffused from above, gave the illusion of sunlight. Tables and benches dotted the open area, informal and inviting, like an outdoor café. She stepped out onto solid, level flooring. No tread-mats here, the floor itself had been built-up to compensate for the ship's tilt. This was obviously where the ship's inhabitants had taken their meals. The view from the balcony was both spectacular and surreal; the huge ship was lifeless, empty, still. She felt like she was the last woman alive.  
  
Sam looked everywhere for something to eat, but the galleys were empty. If the cooking staff used utensils of any kind, Sam couldn't find them. She was starting to get seriously hungry, but after a long search turned up nothing but drinking fountains, she gave up in defeat, returning to the stairway and more climbing.  
  
The fifth level housed death gliders - hundreds of them. They ringed the ship on all four sides, wings folded downwards, hanging from their bays like sleeping birds of prey. The soldier in Sam was awed at the sight. She imagined herself in command of a wing of death gliders armed with enriched-enriched slammer missiles modified with shield frequency modulators. Outfit a ship like this with stealth capabilities, and Earth could take the fight to the enemy in high style. The Goa'uld would never know what hit them.  
  
  
  
She searched the level for something she could use against her sleeping enemy, but, again, she found nothing - no staff weapons, no zat guns, not so much as a maintenance tool. It didn't make any sense! This was the most logical place for an armory - or at least a mechanics shop. Sam decided it that had to be here, hidden behind some seamless wall, but hours of fruitless searching had gotten her nothing but more tired, frustrated and hungry.  
  
  
  
Level six held conference-type rooms and auditoriums, complete with plush theater seats. Other rooms were filled with row upon row of lab- type tables, similar to those found in high school chemistry classes on Earth. In these rooms, the tables were arranged in a circle, as in an amphitheater, facing a presentation area in the center of the room. Sam couldn't help wondering what it must have been like to attend class here.  
  
  
  
The seventh was the best level yet. Lavish open play areas with smaller furnishings and bright primary colors spoke of children having lived on board. Was this perhaps a day-care facility? Other rooms held gaming tables and sporting equipment, even an Olympic-sized swimming pool. The facilities seemed so out of place on a Goa'uld warship. Here, as on the commissary level, the floors had been built-up to compensate for the tilt, showing that considerable use had been made of these levels during the crew's internment inside the planet.  
  
A large room near the pool offered a luxuriously appointed spa. This ship's maker obviously understood the value of R & R. As she settled into the whirlpool, Sam wondered if there might be a speck of goodness in this Goa'uld. She grimaced as the water swirled about her shoulders, chilled as much at the thought of the task awaiting her than from the cold water.  
  
She felt like a common criminal, sneaking about, taking advantage of Ptah's belongings while planning his murder. And she was planning on killing him. He was Goa'uld. If he was Amon-Ptah, then he was ultimately the most dangerous of all the Goa'uld. She studied the stick on the floor beside her. She had found a pile of them among the sporting equipment. It looked like a polo-stick: short and straight with just the slightest curve for a blade and made of naquadah, strong enough to crack open even a thick Goa'uld skull - or so she hoped.  
  
Sam swallowed hard, trying not to think about how she meant to use it. She had killed before, plenty of times, but it was one thing to kill in battle. It was quite another to relax in a whirlpool while coldly calculating how best to bludgeon one's victim to death.  
  
Nothing had changed, really. From the start, the plan had been to ambush the Goa'uld while he slept. Ptah would have been defenseless before their superior numbers and firepower. But Sam would not have been the one to kill Ptah. Teal'c or the Colonel would have taken care of that chore. They would have dispatched him without any pesky qualms of conscience. Then she would have happily plundered the spoils - his ship - like a common Egyptian tomb-robber.  
  
Don't lose your nerve because you're alone, Carter, she chided herself. It's a Goa'uld. Anyway, you think his slaves got to enjoy any of this? I bet they all huddled down in filthy, dark dungeons on ground level.  
  
Sam found her own reasoning hard to believe. How many slaves would this Goa'uld need in a ship that seemed to clean up after itself? What need did Goa'uld or Jaffa have for healing lights around therapeutic tubs, since their symbiotes took care of any aches and pains? She climbed out of the water, feeling dirty despite the bath she had just taken. The blue light worked its magic, restoring a measure of relief to her muscles if not to her conscience.  
  
She dressed and lay down on one of several elegant divans that lined the spa, exhausted from her long climb and from the lack of food. Tomorrow, she thought wearily. She would kill him tomorrow. Ptah had been waiting for ten thousand years, he could wait another day.  
  
______________  
  
  
  
"Ow!" Sam complained, indignant. She had been awakened by violent shaking and had tumbled from her bed, landing face-down on the floor as another quake rocked the ship.  
  
Groggy, she sat up, rubbing her nose gingerly, and looked around. She scowled, irritated that she alone had been tossed around. She wondered how everything managed to keep its place. A quake like that one should have turned the room into a shambles. She pondered the possibility that the ship's movables had been outfitted with some kind of stabilizing field. She could use something like that, herself.  
  
So far she had been lucky; since coming on board, each time there had been a serious quake she had been sleeping. It wouldn't do for her to be in the stairwell or hanging over the balcony overlooking the plaza when a large tremor hit. She sighed and got to her feet, fully awake thanks to her planet-sized alarm clock, and began her new day with a quick dip in the pool and a moment of relief under the healing light.  
  
The climb up to the eighth level was exhausting. Her shoulder throbbed constantly, and she felt faint with hunger. The blue light's effect on her had diminished, leaving her feeling more enervated than energized, like she'd had far too much coffee on an otherwise empty stomach.  
  
Finally, she opened the door onto a leveled, spacious area, easily recognizable even on a ten-thousand year-old ship. The Pel'tac.  
  
Apparently, little had changed in Pel'tac design over millennia. Trust the long-lived parasites to stick with the status-quo. Sam went to the console and located the communications pad. She laid a hand across it. Instantly, the pad emitted a soft, orange light, indicating that it was in transmission mode.  
  
"Colonel O'Neill, this is Major Carter.... Come in." She pulled her hand away from it.  
  
Please! she begged silently as she stared at the device, willing it to make a sound. Nothing, not even static. She tried again.  
  
"Colonel? Daniel? Teal'c, please respond." She remained at the console a long time, trying to raise someone, anyone, but all her hails were greeted with silence. Had the surface radio been damaged or buried by a quake, she wondered. Was the planet interfering with the Goa'uld communication device, as they had theorized? Or, was there simply no one left alive to hear her call for help?  
  
Occasionally she cast nervous glances at the ceiling. Sam could feel the energy draining from her with each passing hour. She knew she would have to act soon if she hoped to over-power a Goa'uld, especially a Goa'uld fresh out of stasis.  
  
Sam would have been content to let the Goa'uld sleep until reinforcements came, but she was pretty sure that it had already been days, and rescue didn't appear to be imminent. If she waited much longer, she would starve to death. She was also afraid of losing her arm. She needed the sarcophagus to get well, and to stay alive until rescue came. Problem was, the sarcophagus was occupied at the moment.  
  
A careful search of the Pel'tac area uncovered no weapons, just as with all the other levels. No Tok'Ra memories of a shipboard armory surfaced either, no matter how hard Sam concentrated. Her only choice was to go on to the next level, where the sarcophagus was. Hopefully, Ptah would have a spare hand device among his things. Even in her weakened state she should be able to use it, and it was bound to be more effective than whacking him with a polo stick.  
  
The transporter was more accessible on the Pel'tac than it had been on the lower levels. A wide swath around the ring mechanism had been left unchanged, so as not to interfere with the ring's movement, but the surface within the circle was slightly raised, like a circular wedge, to compensate for the floor's awkward tilt. A semi-circular guard-rail also stood inside the transport area, no doubt to keep disoriented passengers safely away from the rings. Touching the high-energy matter-transfer device during transport was definitely not recommended.  
  
Sam experimented with the transporter, but it was placed too far from the console and the rings rose into place before she could reach them. Three times she tried to out-run the mechanism, and three times it rose into the ceiling without a passenger. Sam sighed in defeat. She would have to use the stairs again.  
  
  
  
She was most of the way up the second flight of stairs when a violent tremor hit, shaking the steps like a dog shedding water from its back. Sam lost her grip on the handrail and pitched forward, flying into the wall at the bottom of the stairs. The bones in her neck crunched sickeningly as she hit the wall head-on, and she crumpled to the floor in a heap. The ship stilled as the quake passed, but Sam's body continued to jerk and spasm as nerves, severed from the brainstem, twitched helplessly.  
  
Sam lay there, paralyzed, unable to feel anything from her neck down. From the neck up was another matter entirely. The skin of her face tingled and a huge dull ache throbbed in her head. With a strange sense of detachment, she understood that blood wasn't reaching her brain anymore, that her spinal cord had been severed. No survival instincts would be coming to her aid this time. She was not going to be getting up from this fall.  
  
This wasn't the first time she had died, though it would certainly be the last. There were no Nox here to perform their mysterious resurrection rituals on her, no self-sacrificing Tok'Ra symbiote, no Janet with her medical miracles, no Colonel to bully her back to life. Not this time. Even the sarcophagus was currently unavailable - not that she could have made a move to reach it. At least those other times her death had had meaning, offering some small solace to her final lucid moments, but to end up like this....  
  
If she could have, Sam would have cried. She was a soldier, prepared to die in the line of duty, but not like this. Dammit, she'd been to Hell and back, survived torture, the loss of her body to another being, survived being buried alive and drowning, she'd even returned from the dead - twice. She felt humiliated, cheated by the ignominy of her final fate - a simple tumble down the stairs. Worst of all, she was dying alone.  
  
  
  
Gradually, Sam's oxygen-starved brain shut down, and her emotions and thoughts dimmed. She stared out at nothing, sightless eyes frozen in a look of deep regret.  
  
***  
  
  
  
Incredulity mixed with hope as Amon-Ptah stared at the female who had managed to find her way onto his ship. This was not at all how he had envisioned his long-awaited reunion with the outside world. He had expected to greet a god in the throne room, not a broken vessel on the back steps.  
  
The activation of the transporter rings had awakened Amon-Ptah. It had puzzled him to watch the rings appear and then re-appear, bearing nothing each time. A scan of the ship then revealed a strange, lone figure making her way awkwardly up the stairwell. He had settled onto his throne, impatiently awaiting her arrival, until the quake had forced him to go to her instead.  
  
He looked up, his mind's eye seeing beyond the ship, to the surface of the planet, imagining a legion of slaves digging. But, to what end, he wondered: deliverance? Or was this an ominous sign? Judging by the woman's condition, the situation on the surface was not ideal. The season of quakes had obviously returned; the woman must have been pulled underground by one and had found her way onto the ship. Only she could tell him what he needed to know.  
  
The first order of business would be to change her garb. It was repugnant and he would not have her stand before him attired so poorly. Then he would place her in the sarcophagus.  
  
As he bent to undress the woman, Amon-Ptah's eyes widened in astonishment. Grasping her chin, he twisted her head from side to side, seeking an entrance scar that would confirm what he sensed. There was none. Still the presence of naquadah in her system could only mean that this woman had once been a vessel to a Goa'uld. Amon-Ptah was mystified. Hosts did not survive their masters. Why had this one?  
  
He pulled off the oversized shift. Under the injuries lay a near-perfect physique: breasts, full and firm, taut stomach muscles housed above the alluring curves of her hips. Her legs, long, strong and beautiful. This was not the ravaged physique of a menial laborer. Muscles tensed in his groin as he contemplated her.  
  
Amon-Ptah had been without a consort for some time. He toyed with the idea that the woman had originally been meant as a gift, to keep the King of the gods company while he awaited rescue. Hathor would do such a thing, but then, that nymphomaniac practically equated sex with breathing. Apophis, hopeless romantic that he was, might have sent her. Pompous Ra would not have sent anyone, preferring to make the grand entrance himself. Seth would have sent a warrior. Sokar would have sent an assassin.  
  
This female could be an assassin for all he knew. The presence of Goa'uld in her system was as much an enigma as was her presence on his ship. Amon-Ptah quashed his arousal, taking nothing for granted concerning her.  
  
With his ribbon device, Amon-Ptah created an energy field under the woman. The body rose, hovering just above the floor. Slowly, he made his way back to the sarcophagus, the body in tow. The sooner she healed, the sooner he could interrogate her.  
  
_____________________  
  
  
  
Huh!  
  
Sam gasped and threw her arms out to break her fall. What the...?  
  
The steps were gone. There was no wall, just the sensation that she was floating in brilliant whiteness, with no sense of up or down, of space or time. No pain. Was this the Afterlife?  
  
Her eye caught something through the brightness, incongruous in this realm of the intangible. Sam focused on it, recognizing what she saw:  
  
Bones, the humerus, radius and ulna in her arms, the carpals and metacarpals in her wrists and hands. Overlaying them, muscles: the thick biceps and triceps in her upper arms, the flexors and lumbricals that worked her hands and fingers. Nerves wove in and out amongst the tissue: the ulnar and median nerves that allowed the limbs to accept commands from her brain and react to sensations. She saw blood circulating through arteries and veins, making its rounds, delivering oxygen and taking away waste, pulsing with life.  
  
Sam stared, transfixed, as the light traversed her skin, letting her see inside her own body with supra-natural clarity. She flexed the fingers of her right hand. Perfectly healed, they moved as they should. This couldn't be death. Since when did spirits have bones and muscles and blood? This was more like rebirth, a new life growing in the safety of the womb, cut off from all sensation with the exception of sight, watching her own body take form.  
  
Suddenly the brightness split in two, and all her senses returned to her in an instant. Color and form gradually filled the space above her. Her nostrils picked up the change in the air as other gases mixed with pure oxygen. She felt the pull of gravity and noted the dimensions of the space where she lay. In that instant she knew where she was.  
  
Alarm overrode all other sensations and she bolted upright. If she was in the sarcophagus, where was the Goa'uld?  
  
~~~  
  
Amon-Ptah sat on his throne and watched with anticipation as the lid to the sarcophagus opened. Seconds later the head of the woman appeared as she sat up quickly. In a flash she jumped clear of it, landing in a crouch that was clearly an attack stance. Amon-Ptah frowned. This was no docile female sent to comfort him. She had the instincts of a warrior. Pity, for she was indeed beautiful in form, especially in the airy paqt he had dressed her in. An oversight on his part; he should have clothed her in more restrictive garb. His left hand flexed inside the ribbon device, and a bright glow flickered in his eyes.  
  
She swung around to face him, scowling darkly. "Ptah!"  
  
The woman locked eyes with him, neither advancing to attack nor retreating into submission. Like cornered prey, she stood ready to strike. The female's cat-like manner reminded Amon-Ptah of Hathor's house. But Hathor had once been his consort; surely the seductress would not have sent an assassin. Bastet, perhaps. Or Sokar, though this was not his style. Amon-Ptah's gloved hand remained still as energy began to gather in it. "Who are you?" he demanded, weighing every word with power.  
  
She stiffened, automatically straightening her posture in a conditioned response to authority: a stance of resistance. Her master was obviously no friend of Amon-Ptah's. The woman's defiant tone matched her stance. "I am Major Samantha Carter of Earth."  
  
The name meant nothing to Amon-Ptah. "What Goa'uld do you serve?"  
  
"I serve the Tau'ri, under the command of Hammond of Texas."  
  
Amon-Ptah nodded sagely, keeping his gaze fixed on the woman. Though he did not know this Hammond of Texas, he knew the two lands of the Tau'ri: the first world, where human hosts originated, and Abydos, the first world to successfully receive transplanted human stock. The two worlds had been firmly under the rule of Ra when last Amon-Ptah had been there.  
  
"What of Ra?" he asked.  
  
"Ra is dead."  
  
Amon-Ptah's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "How?"  
  
"We killed him."  
  
The two stared silently at each other a long moment. Amon-Ptah's eyes narrowed in understanding. The absence of her Goa'uld symbiote, her stance, her defiant contempt. Hammond of Texas was not Goa'uld. Still, he was not surprised by her news. After all, had he not told Sen'k that this would be Ra's fate? "Tell me, how did the great Ra meet his end?"  
  
"Hathor is dead too."  
  
Amon-Ptah's left hand tensed as much from the shocking news as at the woman's insolence. "You ignore my question, slave?" Amon-Ptah said with quiet menace. "Do you not know where you are? Hammond of Texas does not rule here. You will show your Maker the proper respect."  
  
The woman raised her chin higher, as though to challenge his right to speak to her in such a manner. "Actually, Hammond of Texas is the only ruler who knows your true situation. If any harm comes to me, you'll never leave this place alive."  
  
Such audacity! No one had ever spoken to the King of the gods in this fashion, not even his peers. He reigned in his indignation with an effort. "Harm?" he smirked. "You were dead when I found you. Before that you were already badly injured. If Hammond of Texas is so powerful, why did he not protect his slave when he sent her to me?"  
  
"For the same reason that you haven't been able to leave." The woman glanced upwards, toward the ceiling before returning her gaze to him. "The planet."  
  
Amon-Ptah leaned forward, ever so slightly. The ribbon device hummed, as he prepared to burn the insolence from her.  
  
"That's really not a good idea," she said calmly. "You need me, if you want to get out of here. Oh, I do have some good news for you. Your old enemies, Seth and Sokar? They're dead, too."  
  
He froze. Sokar, dead? Here, at least, was good news, if this creature could be believed at all. On the other hand, if the woman spoke the truth and all these were dead, then her human master had taken far too much power. And if these were dead, what had become of the council at Heliopolis? He sank back into his seat. This was one scenario Amon-Ptah had not envisioned.  
  
"Hammond of Texas is a powerful ruler," he said, making his tone sound suitably impressed. "I look forward to meeting with him. When will your Lord arrive?"  
  
The woman regarded him appraisingly. Intelligence burned in her eyes, along with a measure of fearlessness that he found disconcerting, given her situation. "By our estimates, you've been a prisoner of this planet for ten thousand years."  
  
Amon-Ptah was taken aback. Ten thousand years?  
  
"Hammond of Texas will take considerably less time than that to excavate and raise the ship," she continued. "We have a clearer understanding of the forces at work on this planet. Hammond sent me because I'm a scientist. If you cooperate, you and I could combine our knowledge and we'll be able to liberate you much more effectively.  
  
"So that I may surrender to your human master?" he asked, hiding his trepidation behind sarcasm.  
  
The woman shrugged indifferently. "That's between you and him."  
  
Amon-Ptah sternly schooled the discomfort from his features. So much for pretending that his being here was a test of Goa'uld faith. This frail creature knew precisely his predicament. She had all the knowledge and, presumably, all the power.  
  
Had Amon-Ptah's prophesy actually come to pass? Had the slaves risen up and usurped their foolish masters? He thought back to his conversation with his former First Prime, Sen'k. What would he have thought of this human who stood defiant before the King of the gods? What had happened to the Goa'uld she had once carried?  
  
He sat back on his throne and smiled expansively. "Then speak, Major Samantha Carter of Earth. Amon-Ptah will judge whether you truly have knowledge and insight."  
  
"...Ah.... Well...."  
  
Amon-Ptah's eyes narrowed in suspicion as the suddenly flustered woman struggled to find something plausible to tell him. She was likely little more than a thief that had somehow blundered onto his ship. How much of what she had told him had been lies? There was an easy way to find out. He raised his gloved hand. "We will not share knowledge, you deceitful servant of a mere slave." He rose from his throne and advanced toward her, the ribbon device glowed in readiness.  
  
The woman backed away, suddenly fearful. "No! Wait!" she pleaded.  
  
Amon-Ptah smiled in triumph. "I will extract knowledge from you, and you will do obeisance to the King of the gods."  
  
  
  
"Kree, Goa'uld!"  
  
  
  
Amon-Ptah's hand froze over his victim, as, suddenly, the radio came to life and the deep rumble of a Goa'uld filled the room. Human and Goa'uld looked up in surprise. The deep, metallic voice spoke sharply, its tone, threatening. Then, the voice softened as it addressed the woman.  
  
"Samantha Carter, servant of Hammond of Texas, beloved of Jacob, we see that you have gained access to the Hidden One. You have done well. SG-1 are in good health and send you their greetings."  
  
"Selmac?!" The woman fell to her knees, whispering the name almost reverently. The expression of her face spoke not only of her surprise and relief, but of her affection for the one speaking. Ptah quickly pulled his hand away, his confusion growing along with his consternation.  
  
"These tremors that grip the land will soon pass and you will be liberated from your prison." The menacing tone returned to Selmac's voice as he addressed Ptah again. "We trust our envoy is being shown the proper courtesies, unless the Hidden One desires to remain so for another ten thousand years. We await word from you."  
  
The radio fell silent. The woman smiled at Amon-Ptah triumphantly. "Shall we respond?"  
  
  
  
__________________  
  
  
  
"Why aren't they responding?"  
  
Jacob Carter stood with his friend George in the control room, along with the men of SG-1, looking up at the monitors, awaiting word that Sam was alright.  
  
A grieving Jacob Carter had arrived on Earth expecting to attend his daughter's funeral. What he found instead was an anxious SGC and a formal request for Tok'Ra help from the President. His daughter was alive, but her situation was precarious, seriously taxing the man's emotions and making Selmac work harder than usual to try to keep Jacob calm. No easy task since, this time, the Tok'Ra was as angry as his host. Jacob's temper had exploded when he had heard their story....  
  
  
  
"Have you people lost your minds? What possessed you to think you could undertake a project like this without our help? You really have no idea what or who you're dealing with."  
  
"Hey, hey," Jack retorted, defensive. "We were doing just fine until those quakes started."  
  
Jacob glared at him. "Right, Jack. You were doing great! That must be why my daughter's limping around in a buried ship with the most powerful Goa'uld who ever lived."  
  
Jack backed away as though Jacob's words had a physical effect on him, and Selmac chided his host for having been so harsh. The Colonel looked drawn and pale. Jacob knew that this man cared deeply for his daughter. Jack was suffering as much as he was, perhaps more so, with no symbiote to soothe the stress of his guilt and anxiety. Still, Jacob was in no mood to be comforting. He turned away from Jack and watched the monitor, nearly overwhelmed with a terrifying sense of déjà-vu.  
  
This situation reminded him too much of another, some twenty years earlier, when he had arrived at the hospital emergency room to see furious activity around the still figure of his wife. They hadn't allowed him into the room, and he could only watch helplessly from a distance as the trauma unit shouted incomprehensible orders at each other, burying his wife under a mountain of tubes and machines. There were so many working on her. There was so much blood.... Then, his terror had turned to despair when the chaos around her stopped abruptly.  
  
"Time of death, eleven-oh-one."  
  
  
  
Now, some twenty years later, as the only other woman that had ever mattered in his life was in mortal danger, Jacob was once again a helpless bystander, and he prepared to die all over again.  
  
  
  
The fire-red smudge that was his daughter was slowly creeping upwards between levels seven and eight of the largest Ha'tak vessel he had ever seen. Nothing was distinct on the image, but the slow progress of the little spot of heat indicated that she was injured.  
  
"At least she is alive," Selmac offered gently.  
  
Jacob nodded, as he stared at the image, unaware of the gesture or that the fingers of his right hand were fiddling with the wedding band he still wore.  
  
"At least the Goa'uld is sleeping," Daniel said softly.  
  
"We do not know that, Daniel Jackson. This footage is several hours old. Major Carter was on her way to level eight: Command level. It is likely that there are proximity alarms there."  
  
Jacob stiffened at Teal'c's words, but he knew he was right. Trust the Jaffa to not let his emotions cloud his judgment. "Probably rigged to go off the moment someone tries to work the controls," Jacob agreed. "Let's hope she doesn't touch anything."  
  
"'Let's hope she doesn't touch anything?'" Jack raised both eyebrows. "It's Carter. Of course she's gonna touch something."  
  
"The radio!" Daniel exclaimed. "She'll try to contact us."  
  
Sergeant Davis shook his head. "No radio transmissions have been received as of yet, Sir," he informed General Hammond.  
  
"We should radio her first. Warn her," Daniel insisted, keeping a bulldog grip on the idea.  
  
Jacob shook his head. "Won't work. An incoming transmission will activate the system just as surely as an outgoing one."  
  
"Waking up the Goa'uld," Daniel finished, his excitement deflating.  
  
"Do we know that for a fact?" George asked.  
  
"No," Jacob answered, "but a Goa'uld in stasis is vulnerable with no one around to guard him. You can be sure he'd have some kind of advance warning to let him know if he's got company."  
  
"Then we have to give her an advantage."  
  
"Yes, but George, --"  
  
"I know, Jacob," George reassured his anxious friend. "Maybe we can't prevent the Goa'uld from awakening, but I think there's a way we can help Major Carter."  
  
"How?"  
  
"Sirs, we're receiving data in real-time, now," Sergeant Davis reported.  
  
"Let's see it," the General commanded.  
  
The image of Major Carter's heat signature in the stairwell disappeared as fresh data replaced it on the monitor.  
  
"Sir...."  
  
The control room fell silent as, not one, but two bodies showed up on the monitor. Though the images displayed were nothing more than garish tones of warm colors against cool, all understood the drama playing out before their eyes.  
  
Suddenly, a point of red deepened on one of the two smudges. "That one's the Goa'uld," Jacob said, his voice tight with concern. "He's activating a ribbon device."  
  
The room held its breath as they waited for the energy stream to jump across the narrowing gap between the two figures on the monitor. Jacob let Selmac take control, only to help him keep his legs from buckling under him.  
  
"General," Jack spoke forcefully. "Isn't it time we gave her some back- up?"  
  
"How?" Selmac repeated his host's question.  
  
"We bluff," Daniel answered. "We let the Goa'uld know that...that the Great Hammond of Texas is very concerned about the welfare of his servant."  
  
"And we make it crystal clear that he'd better not mess with her," Jack growled.  
  
"Open a link to the ship," Hammond commanded urgently. "Selmac, perhaps you should do the talking." He pointed at the microphone, inviting Selmac to speak to the Goa'uld.  
  
  
  
Selmac had sent the radio message to Ptah almost an hour ago. No ribbon activity had been seen since then, so they knew their message had gotten through, and, no doubt, just in time to save the Major. However, no return message had been received.  
  
"Maybe their radio doesn't work," Jack suggested.  
  
"Not likely," Jacob said. "Must be something else - some kind of interference."  
  
"Like what?" Jack asked.  
  
Jacob shrugged. "Don't know. Possibly whatever's keeping that ship from getting out of the ground is keeping radio signals from getting out, too."  
  
"So it's possible they didn't get our message," General Hammond said.  
  
Jacob sighed and nodded in agreement.  
  
"Not necessarily," Daniel said. He turned to Jack. "The marbles! Sam said they generated some kind of energy field. You said it yourself, maybe they have a negative effect on naquadah, like with Thor's cavern on Cimmeria."  
  
Jack rubbed his neck. "So, their radio can't send or receive signals," he said slowly.  
  
"The Goa'uld did not use his ribbon device against Major Carter even though that was clearly his intention," Teal'c reminded them. "Surely that is not just a coincidence."  
  
Daniel pointed at Teal'c. "That's right," he exclaimed.  
  
"Okay," Jack said. "So, what happened?"  
  
"I have no idea," Daniel answered glumly. "This stuff is Sam's department. The ship's radio is Goa'uld technology, ours isn't. Would that make a difference?"  
  
"We can see them, that means our stuff can get through to the ship," Jack said after a moment's thought. "So it probably means they got our transmission, too."  
  
"We'll go with that assumption," General Hammond agreed. "Now what? We haven't found a way to get the Gate upright on P4N-285, and even if we did, the quakes are too frequent and severe to risk sending any more people there."  
  
"Let me return to the Tok'Ra," Selmac said. "Our scientists may have some knowledge of this geological phenomenon. I will return within the day."  
  
"We'll expect you back at nineteen hundred hours, Selmac," the General said. The Tok'Ra nodded. With one last look at the monitor, he hurried down to the Gate room.  
  
~~~  
  
As he waited for the Chaapa'ai to activate, Selmac tried to calm his tumultuous feelings over this newest crisis of the Tau'ri. They were like active little children, getting into everything, especially trouble. Especially SG-1. And, like inexperienced children, they were impossible to reason with.  
  
Just as a child with a torch saw no reason not to play with its fire, so these Tau'ri saw no reason why they should not pit themselves against the Goa'uld. It didn't help that they had appeared wildly successful in their campaign against their enemy; they were incapable of comprehending the dangers to which their actions were exposing the entire galaxy, just as a child could not comprehend that his little torch could incinerate an entire forest.  
  
Selmac loved Samantha. His affection for her was no doubt heightened by Jacob's love for his daughter, but beyond that, the young woman had many endearing qualities that Selmac admired. She had also saved his life on two occasions. Now she needed him to repay the debt. Selmac resolved do everything in his power to help her, but as he prepared to enter the Chaapa'ai for home, a profound sense of foreboding accompanied him.  
  
The Tau'ri were, to quote an expression from his host, "in way over their heads" this time. Amon-Ptah was no ordinary Goa'uld. He understood alien technology in a way other Goa'uld simply could not. This was no accident; the parasitical Goa'uld were not so much inventive as opportunistic. Ptah had been the exception. His offspring were few, and they had disappeared with their sire, taking with them the memory of creation. Most of the Goa'uld devices still in use today had originated with the so-called creator-god. Were he to re-surface, he could quickly become a threat to rival even Apophis. And were Ptah to decide to take a new host, one who could inform him of the present state of affairs among the Goa'uld....  
  
Jacob's breath caught in his throat as the host sensed Selmac's thought, for Samantha was no ordinary human. She was not only remarkably intelligent, but she knew much that even the Goa'uld did not: about the Tok'Ra, the Asgard, the Nox, Earth. He and Jacob both knew how the council would react to this news. Unfortunately, both of them also knew that the council would have to do the right thing. Selmac could only hope that the Tau'ri could pull off yet another miracle before the Tok'Ra got involved.  
  
***  
  
  
  
Amon-Ptah sat on his throne, watching the woman investigate the inner workings of the long-range communications device. She was pulling crystal rods out of their housing, running a hand over them and holding them up to the light, staring at them as though transfixed. What in Ptah's name did she expect to learn by mere observation? He laughed inwardly at her obvious bluff. He had seen six-year olds hide their ignorance better than she did.  
  
The Goa'uld Selmac had communicated with them two days ago, but the imprisoned pair had received no reply to their answering hail. The woman had theorized that the make-up of the planet's soil interfered with outgoing transmissions because the communication device was Goa'uld technology. Amon-Ptah had come to that conclusion millennia ago. She had suggested that she might be able to re-configure the "radio," as she called it, so that it would transmit from their end. She was wasting her time, and trying his patience.  
  
Samantha Carter had told him how the moons were aligned, and Amon-Ptah knew that the season of quakes would not be over for many days. This posed a serious problem: Hammond of Texas planned on waiting for the quakes to pass before endeavoring to liberate them. There was no sustenance aboard his ship, and only one sarcophagus. He shook his head, embittered by the addition to his existence of yet more irony. He had survived ten thousand years without difficulty. Now, on the eve of rescue, he risked dying because of a few weeks wait.  
  
Desire twitched inside him as he contemplated the female's beautiful form. She was strong, young and healthy, whereas his host's body was failing rapidly. His host had been weakened by hunger before his ten- thousand year sleep, but to have aged so dramatically while in stasis had proved to be a rude awakening indeed. The sarcophagus was a marvelous instrument, but ten thousand years was a long time, and the bio-unit could not sustain an unnourished body indefinitely. Ptah's metabolism was much faster than that of an unblended human. Without the sarcophagus he would succumb to starvation long before the woman. Without food, the woman would succumb long before rescue.  
  
After two days and with nothing to eat, he acutely felt the need for the sarcophagus' palliative comfort. But the Goa'uld Selmac's single, cryptic message had not been reassuring, and considering the woman's reaction on first meeting him, he was not about to leave himself vulnerable to her treacherous devices while he slept.  
  
He considered the only option open to both of them: They could not both survive a prolonged interment, nor could they share the sarcophagus.  
  
It was a risk, he knew. Hammond of Texas could see them, somehow. Would he allow Amon-Ptah to explain when the two met? On the other hand, if he did not act, Samantha Carter would die of hunger and his life would likely still be forfeit. He studied the woman as she played her little game in silence. What changes had ten thousand years wrought between host and symbiote?  
  
He had tried to get information from Samantha Carter but, interesting as her replies always were, they were rarely answers to his questions. His patience finally reached its limit when he asked her what had become of her Goa'uld....  
  
  
  
"Dead."  
  
Amon-Ptah noted the clenching of the woman's facial muscles that indicated distress. "How?"  
  
The woman's wide, blue eyes narrowed to slits. "Harekash," she said coldly.  
  
Execution? "Why?"  
  
Samantha Carter turned away, clearly perturbed. She pretended to study the console again. "I can't believe you only use based-based technology on this ship," she said in exasperation. "Don't you know how unwise it is to put all of your eggs into one basket?"  
  
Eggs. Amon-Ptah grimaced. What he wouldn't do for an omelet at this moment. Samantha Carter's continued audacity and his increasing hunger did nothing to improve his temper. "What was his name?" he nearly growled the question.  
  
"I haven't even seen any digging implements. Didn't you even try to break to the surface?"  
  
Ptah was on his feet instantly. No one spoke to him in this manner. How dare this mere human ignore his questions and rebuke the Great Maker, Amon-Ptah!?  
  
"Ammit eat Hammond of Texas!" he roared, uttering an ancient curse. "I will suffer no such insolence from a mere slave." He raised his ribbon device to the woman, instantly throwing her against the console, pinning her against it. He rose from his seat and approached her slowly. Horror replaced defiance in Samantha Carter's wide-eyed gaze, giving Amon-Ptah immense satisfaction. No reproof came from the radio.  
  
Amon-Ptah leaned over the terrified woman. "Does Selmac see us now?" he spoke powerfully. "Does he intervene on your behalf? Listen." The only sound was the labored breathing of his helpless victim. "Hammond of Texas, hear me," he called into the air. "Selmac, hear the words of Amon- Ptah, your Maker. This envoy conducts herself in a manner most unbecoming. By all that is right and holy, she is deserving of death. Do you contend?" The radio remained silent. Either they agreed with him or were oblivious to what was happening. Amon-Ptah would know, soon enough. He returned his attention to the woman.  
  
"No more games," he hissed. "No more insolence. I will know everything you know." An intense glow rose in his eyes. "Now."  
  
His fingers closed over his gloved hand, arresting the flow of energy, and the woman slumped to the floor. She stared up at him, immobilized by the glove's effect on her nervous system.  
  
Amon-Ptah knelt over her, mesmerized by the rise and fall of her breasts as they heaved in fear. Slowly, lovingly, he caressed them. He ran his fingers over her trembling lips and traced the outline of her cheekbone, down to her chin. He grasped it gently and tilted her face up. "So beautiful," he marveled. Under better circumstances he would have gladly taken her to his bed. Alas, there would be no time for that, now.  
  
He put his lips to the helpless woman's mouth, and kissed her tenderly, parting her lips with his tongue. Easing away from his host's brainstem, Amon-Ptah slid along his tongue, and into the woman's mouth. As was the Goa'uld custom, he secreted a paralyzing poison into his male host's bloodstream. The old man fell away, and Amon-Ptah's tail whipped about in the air as he bore into the soft, vibrant flesh at the back of the young woman's throat.  
  
The woman jerked spasmodically as she fought him. He was not yet connected to her consciousness and he could already taste the hormones of panic that flooded her body. It sent a long-forgotten thrill up the Goa'uld's spine.  
  
_________________  
  
  
  
Retching.  
  
Amon-Ptah awoke to the most unpleasant sensation, disoriented. Where was he? Inside the female. Yes, he remembered the blending. It had been extremely difficult and the unthinkable had happened: he had lost consciousness. He felt ill. Something had gone terribly wrong. By now he should be feeling much better.  
  
Moaning. He could feel rather than hear the sound.  
  
Dark. He palped the occipital nerve. The movement sent a shock of pain through his sensitive appendages, but though he sensed his connection to it, he could not tap into it in order to see. The same was true of the cochlea nerve, so he was deaf, as well as blind. He couldn't even shield his own body against that wretched sense of fear and malaise as the female's body heaved. Had he been injured during the blending?  
  
~~~  
  
Hurts.... Oh god, he's inside me!  
  
Sam rolled over and pulled herself into a crouch as she tried to still the nausea that threatened to explode from her stomach. Blood trickled from her hands, cut on the razor-sharp edges of the radio's broken crystal shards. Then she saw the lifeless body of the poor soul who had once been Ptah's host, and the nausea won.  
  
Sam trembled uncontrollably as her body ejected bile from her otherwise empty stomach. The pain in her head and along her spinal column was unbearable. The dread realization that a Goa'uld was taking over her body threatened to send her deep into shock.  
  
Her breath came in gasps as she clenched and unclenched her jaw. She had to fight! Had to keep the Goa'uld's mind at bay. She remembered Hathor's words: "The pain a symbiote can inflict upon its host is unimaginable."  
  
She crawled forward, trying to escape the fire at her back, away from the dead body of Ptah's former host, away from the vomit. The deep cuts on her hands left a bloody trail across the floor. Her head bumped an object and Sam reached up, grasping a handhold, and pulling herself to her feet. The sarcophagus. It opened and she gazed into its soft, inviting light. Its gentle hum beckoned her with the promise of relief. She put a trembling hand out to it, then retracted it quickly. "No!"  
  
Violently, she pushed herself away from the sarcophagus. She fell heavily onto her side, crying out at the searing jolt that shot through her spine and into her head. Sam had no idea why she was still in control, she just knew that if she used the sarcophagus, she would awaken as a Goa'uld.  
  
She lay shaking at the base of the healing bed, a prisoner to pain and terror, too exhausted to fight, too wound up to surrender. Why hadn't the Goa'uld taken over? She knew she couldn't be preventing the blending, she wasn't that strong. Not like the Colonel. He had fought the snake that had infested him - held it off until the cryogenic tank had killed it. She, on the other hand, had been powerless against Jolinar, and the Tok'Ra had been relatively gentle with her.  
  
Thinking of the Colonel and of the Tok'Ra reminded Sam of the danger she now posed. It had been bad enough when she had brought Jolinar to Earth. If the creature inside her hadn't turned out to be a Tok'Ra that time....  
  
There was no mistake about who Ptah was, or what he would do with her knowledge - of Earth, the Tok'Ra, the Asgard. Sam had to fight him. Had to keep him from getting control. The Colonel had done it, so would she.  
  
But the Colonel had had help. The Tok'Ra operative had saved him by putting him into cryogenic stasis. Sam would get no help. No one would be coming for days. Ptah could take all the time he needed. Even now he was in no hurry, preferring to torment her, no doubt to put her in her place. She was an idiot - had carried her bluff too far. She should have acted more respectful, tried to gain Ptah's confidence. Since when had she become so flippant? Where did she think she was? Who did she think she was dealing with?  
  
Tears fell unchecked as her emotions flip-flopped between resolve and despair. The pain and the terror remained constant.  
  
Suddenly, Sam became aware of a presence, so vaporous that it could have been a mental mirage - a voice - coming from so deeply inside her that Sam was unsure whether she was actually hearing it or merely imagining it. Her body stilled as the voice sharpened into focus in her mind. She was enraptured by the brief utterance. It wasn't Ptah, nor was it Jolinar. The voice in her mind was deep, masculine, familiar and reassuring. Sam's eyes widened in wonder as she listened. Her mind nodded in agreement, her neck too stiff to accompany the gesture physically. Soon it would be over. Soon she would be free. A single word formed on her lips as she waited for the inevitable.  
  
"Machello."  
  
***  
  
  
  
Amon-Ptah sensed a change as the female's body stilled. Terror and shock dissipated. Euphoria saturated the tissue surrounding him, a taste every bit as powerful as the negative emotions had been, its implications just as terrifying for him.  
  
Had her people come for her? Did the great Hammond of Texas now stand before Samantha Carter of Earth? Was he about to die without the benefit of a proper hearing? He shivered in fear, causing the host to cry out.  
  
Amon-Ptah had never known fear. He had seen it on the faces of his servants, had often produced it in his own host to better understand the phenomenon. He perfectly understood the physiological elements involved with the emotion. Until today, he had always been in control of the fear. Now, the fear was in control of him, and he did not like it.  
  
With effort he brought his own emotions under control. He had to think clearly. Surely Hammond of Texas had not arrived. He would not risk coming here until the quakes had subsided. There must be another explanation for the host's sudden hormonal change.  
  
He took advantage of the respite to make a careful examination of his surroundings. He was properly wound about the host's spinal column. His body thinned and bulged in all the right places to accommodate the fit between the vertebrae. His millions of appendages, housed under his scales, had reached out to the host's spinal cord and brainstem. Myriad tendrils, like long cilia, extended from his appendages to join onto the human's synaptic chains. His mouth-like maw was deeply embedded within the woman's hypothalamus, the better to control and supersede her will. Everything was as it should be.  
  
Except that Amon-Ptah was not in control.  
  
He assessed his own internal functions, checking his own nerve center for evidence of a wound that might account for the unsuccessful blending. He lay perfectly still, unaware of the passage of time as he painstakingly double-checked every tendril on every appendage to make sure that all was in order. To his immense relief, his systems were uninjured and functioning normally. The fault obviously lay with the host. He set about examining all the connections from that perspective. What he discovered shocked him.  
  
  
  
The human nervous system was well-suited to the Goa'uld. It was a vast, intricate web of insulated fibers that branched into endings that contained neurons. No more than a millionth of an inch separated one neuron from another, and neurotransmitters - electrical signals converted into chemical signals - jumped this space between neurons. Information was unceasingly fed to and from the brain in the form of these tiny synaptic jumps.  
  
Goa'uld were perfectly outfitted to exploit this system. Their bodies needed only a moment to "taste" the chemical signals particular to each individual host. A specialized gland then converted their own neurotransmitters to correspond precisely to the host's, thus fooling the nervous system into believing their information was coming from the host, not the symbiote.  
  
This host's synaptic responses appeared entirely normal as they communicated within their own closed system, but when Amon-Ptah tried to add his signals, his electrical charge was consistently repelled.  
  
Amon-Ptah was stymied. He saw no evidence of tampering. No protein or enzyme foreign to the human physiology aside from the protein marker of the host's former owner. And yet, his body could not properly "taste" this host. She was immune to him.  
  
How was this possible? This one had once been a host. She said it was the Ashrack that had killed her master. Was this yet another of her lies?  
  
The Creator-god thought long and hard about his situation. He would have to bring all of his knowledge and wisdom into play to find a solution to this problem. His continued existence, perhaps even that of his species, was at stake.  
  
Opportunity was once again placed before Amon-Ptah to establish himself as King among the gods. Just as he had outwitted his first host and taken control of the alien environment that had been its body, so Amon- Ptah determined to find a way to thwart this immunity as well. How fitting if, during his absence, the Goa'uld had lost the best of hosts, only to have Amon-Ptah, their Maker and rightful King, restore the humans back to them. And if Ra, Sokar and other such fools were truly dead, then Amon-Ptah would see to it that this time the human stock would be properly managed.  
  
Ptah lost himself in unraveling the mystery, forgetting the precariousness of his situation in light of this new challenge. Sight and hearing were his first concerns. If he could not access the occipital and cochlea nerves, he would have to use a more direct approach. Slowly and carefully, Amon-Ptah pulled his maw out of the host's hypothalamus and extended two appendages outward. Like an arm reaching through a small opening, he delicately eased his appendages along the intricate folds of the host's brain, navigating the labyrinth of a thousand million nerves with extreme care. Progress was slow and despite his caution, he caused the woman to moan in pain.  
  
It was imperative to his own survival that this host survive. If he could not connect to her through her nervous system, then he could not heal her wounds, and, despite the surgical precision of his entry into her, Amon-Ptah had already caused the woman considerable damage with the blending.  
  
Finally he arrived at his destination on the right side of the woman's head. Carefully, he extended one appendage into the area behind her eye socket where the hearing organ was located. He touched the cochlea or ear-sac, where vibrations were amassed by the ear and sent to the brain for processing into intelligible sounds.  
  
The flaps inside the cochlea vibrated incessantly, sending a painful tickle along Amon-Ptah's sensitive tendrils. They drew back into their appendage reflexively. He forced himself to touch the resonating organ again, steeling himself to endure the sensation as he listened to the sound the vibrations were making.  
  
This was torture! He felt the hiss of labored breathing and the rumble of his host's occasional moans. What would it be like when she spoke aloud?  
  
Letting go of the sound organ for the time being, he focused his attention on the woman's eye. He eased his second appendage toward it and sent tendrils between the tightly packed nerves at the base of her retina.  
  
There was not a lot of maneuvering space among the rods and cones in the retina. The light-sensitive nerve cells numbered in the hundred millions and were tightly packed in this the most important of all the human sensory organs. It took Amon-Ptah some time before he could inveigle his tendrils into a position where he could "see."  
  
All was dark. The woman's eyes were tightly lidded. Was she sleeping? He would have to awaken her in order to know if his experiment would work. He shook himself. The woman cried out, but she did not open her eyes. On the contrary, the muscles around her eye contracted, pinching his tightly wedged tendrils painfully.  
  
With a silent curse Amon-Ptah accessed the cochlea again without severing his connection to the eye. The scales along his body flattened tightly against him, the Goa'uld equivalent to gritted teeth, as he grasped the cochlea flaps firmly with his appendages. He drummed on the flaps, vibrating them in the precise manner that would allow the host's nerves to pick up his signal.  
  
"Samantha Carter, I, Amon-Ptah, would speak with you. Open your eyes." He waited for a response. When it came he was practically thrown back by the force of the vibrations in the cochlea.  
  
"Ptah?"  
  
The eye muscles contracted all the more tightly around him and Amon-Ptah shuddered, on the verge of panic. He felt a sense of vertigo as the woman heaved mightily.  
  
"Why the hell aren't you dead yet?"  
  
~~~  
  
Sam heard the sound of a voice in her head. The voice was not heard as a thought, as when Jolinar was alive and had spoken into her mind. This sounded like Sam's own voice when she spoke aloud, except that it wasn't hers - and it wasn't Machello's.  
  
"Ptah?" she rasped. She grimaced in pain. What was he doing in there? Shouldn't Machello have killed him by now? Or had she just imagined the voice? Sam opened her eye a crack - the left one. Her right eye hurt too much, like someone was squeezing it from the inside. No Goa'uld lay beside her. She sat up. Pain from the sudden movement made her sick and she was wracked by dry heaves. She leaned wearily against the sarcophagus.  
  
"Why the hell aren't you dead yet?"  
  
"Calm yourself," the voice commanded. "Calm yourself or I will hurt you further."  
  
Sam's face twisted in agony. "Stop hurting me and I'll calm down," she countered through tightly clenched teeth.  
  
"Your agitation is hurting both of us," the Goa'uld said. "I will endeavor to cause you no further pain if you relax."  
  
"No," she growled. "You will endeavor to get out of me. Now!" She winced. Shouting was definitely a bad idea.  
  
"That is not possible.... We...have a problem."  
  
The Goa'uld's "voice" was a monotone, but Sam could still pick up the hesitancy in it. Her entire body shook with mirthless laughter. "We do, do we?"  
  
"You could have informed me that humans and Goa'uld were no longer compatible."  
  
"We never were compatible." Sam leaned her head back against the sarcophagus. "And you could've stayed where you were."  
  
Sam's head throbbed momentarily as the Goa'uld reacted to her words, but the creature quickly stilled inside her, not wanting to provoke more muscle-clenching. Sam took a perverse pleasure in the role-reversal, however limited.  
  
She realized that Ptah must not be aware of her thoughts. Otherwise he would have known that Sam's immunity was unique to her and perhaps to Janet and the rest of SG-1. Only those five had been infected with Machello's little Goa'uld killers several months ago. She surmised that, just as Jolinar had left a protein marker in her body that made Sam resistant to certain things, so, too, Machello's little Goa'uld-killers must have left something behind. She and Ptah hadn't blended. They were truly two separate entities inside one body.  
  
But if that was the case, why was Ptah still alive? Had her time in the sarcophagus somehow weakened the effectiveness of Machello's toxin, Sam wondered. If so, would another session in the Goa'uld device destroy it altogether? How long could a Goa'uld live this way, she wondered. Would it succumb to rejection, or would it be able to hold off her body's defense mechanisms? Would Ptah starve to death inside her, or use his prison for food? The terrifying perspective made Sam swallow reflexively and she gasped in pain as her injured throat muscles contracted powerfully.  
  
"You are injured. Return to the sarcophagus."  
  
"No," she croaked.  
  
"The blending caused internal damage that I am now unable to heal."  
  
"Umh," she acknowledged with a grunt.  
  
"Do you not wish to live?"  
  
"Not with you inside me."  
  
"I cannot leave. There is no where for me to go."  
  
Without thinking, Sam turned to look at Ptah's former host. She blinked in confusion. A limp pile of clothing and the ribbon device lay on the floor amid shattered crystal rods. The dead body was gone, as was the blood and vomit. The area around the console was spotless, as though a maid service had been by to tidy up, taking care to remove only the organic matter, leaving the rest.  
  
"Recycled," Ptah answered her mute question.  
  
Sam looked on the floor around herself. It too, was clean. Curiosity took over and Sam put a bloodied hand to the surface, smearing the floor. She watched in fascination as tiny pin-point patches of clean floor started showing up in the blood, growing as the smear shrank, until there was no blood visible. She grimaced, the crew's disappearance no longer a mystery. "Recycled into what? How?"  
  
"There is much I could show you, Samantha Carter of Earth. Cooperate with me. In return, you will know everything I know - all the secrets of creation."  
  
Sam's answer was to cross her arms as she made a show of settling in to wait.  
  
"If I die, all my knowledge dies with me. I am much more valuable to you alive."  
  
Sam winced as she tried to laugh. "You are so full of yourself, Ptah. You've been gone ten thousand years, --"  
  
"Amon-Ptah," he corrected.  
  
"What makes you think anything you know is still of value?" she continued as though he hadn't spoken.  
  
The silence that followed told Sam that the Goa'uld believed her bluff, and again, she was grateful that he could not read her thoughts. The fact was, Ptah's inventions were a marvel - so much so that the System Lords were still using them today. Though she wasn't that familiar with everything aboard Goa'uld ships, she suspected this ship had technology that the others did not. It certainly had nicer amenities than she'd seen on any ship so far. Especially the healing light.  
  
The healing light! Sam sat up, crying out at the sudden movement. "Where's the bathtub?" she rasped.  
  
"At a time such as this, you wish to bathe?"  
  
Sam got to her feet and stumbled about the throne room, looking for the door that would lead to the bathing facilities.  
  
"There," Ptah directed her.  
  
Sam approached the golden wall where Ptah indicated, and twisted the ankh-shaped door-opener with fingers made clumsy by her injuries. She entered the posh, spacious bathing area and looked around.  
  
Despite her situation, Sam was impressed by what she saw. Wow! she marveled. Bathroom of the gods.  
  
The room, though not nearly as large, was built after the style of the plaza on the first level. Easily more than twice the size of the Gate room back at the SGC, it was ringed by an upper balcony. In the middle stood an enormous pool that sparkled with silver and gold and precious gem-stones. Long, pillow-covered divans were placed near it. "The bathing pool," Ptah said.  
  
It was a work of beauty. Made of naquadah, the circular basin section was partially set into the floor and rose to Sam's thighs. Its inside edge was silver, miraculously untarnished despite the years. It covered the deepest part of the circular basin. In one place the rim formed a lip that poured over the side and into a silver trench in the floor. The trench had the contours of a stream that meandered around the room. Out of the middle of the basin rose an island. Tan-colored onyx stone mixed with naquadah to form a silty beach where papyrus plants of sculpted jade grew. Further up the island, fields of wheat gleamed in pure gold. Stone olive trees and date palms grew out of its center. The central tree rose pillar-like, almost to the ceiling. Its high, airy fronds spread beyond the area of the basin. Beneath the trees, beautiful human figures carved from bronze and marble worked and played; women carried on their heads baskets filled with every conceivable sort of produce. Children, in play poses, gamboled about on the beach and under the palms. Beautifully carved animals browsed amid the rushes: hippos, crocodiles and ibises. Oxen worked the gold-sculpted grain fields ahead of well muscled bronze men, while peacocks stood among the trees and fanned their tails of multi-jeweled plumage.  
  
Sam stared, lost in the brilliant craftsmanship. The scene looked idyllic, like what she imagined paradise would be, if it existed somewhere. Only one thing ruined the scene: wrapped around the uppermost trunk of the central tree, like the snake of Eden's paradise, were four golden figures of the Goa'uld.  
  
She touched the stone fountain. Water filled the basin's silver pool, stopping at the reed-lined shore. The overflow spilled over the lip and into the trench set in the floor. As it filled, Sam could imagine colorful Japanese koi swimming among water lilies in the meandering silver stream. The water's naturally soothing gurgling evoked a deep emotional response in Sam.  
  
"Beautiful, is it not?" Ptah drummed softly in her ear. "Life, as it is meant to be, with all living things harmoniously interconnected."  
  
Sam sensed a wistfulness that the Goa'uld's monotone could not hide. She regarded the artificial scene solemnly. She found it hard to believe that a Goa'uld could aspire to such a lofty ideal as harmony with "lesser creatures."  
  
"Amon-Ptah, Thoth, Isis, and Osiris," he indicated when her eye focused on the Goa'uld, one facing each of the four cardinal points atop the sculpture. "The whole galaxy was growing toward this harmony under our benevolent direction."  
  
Of course! Sam realized. It wasn't harmony that Ptah sought, but dominion, God ship. "Oh, please," she muttered. "Everyone knows what happens when snakes take charge of the garden." Sam turned away from the fountain; the scene had lost its appeal.  
  
She looked toward the ceiling. "How do you turn on the blue light?"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"We can use it's analgesic effects to ease the pain." The Goa'uld remained silent. "Ptah, I'm in control, here," she reminded him. "The sarcophagus is out of the question. Now, you hurt, I hurt. How do I turn this thing on without getting wet?"  
  
"My name is Amon-Ptah.... You must bathe."  
  
"You're kidding. No auxiliary switch?"  
  
"It is a bathing device, not a healing device."  
  
"Right," Sam grumbled as she sat on the rim of the pool. "The water could be warmer," she groused as she submerged herself, clothes and all. They were soiled anyway, and Sam figured the light would dry them as it had her body.  
  
Despite the large, sculpted display in the middle of the pool, it was quite roomy. Had she felt so inclined, Sam could have swam around the entire island without touching anything. It made sense, of course. Water was the Goa'uld's natural environment, so the most lavishly furnished and decorated areas on the ship would be the ones that featured water. She wondered at the logistics of carrying so much liquid around while on long space flights - one of many obstacles for Earth's long-distance space program. Obviously, the storage of nonrenewable resources was not a worry to a race that had long ago conquered faster-than-light travel.  
  
She ducked her head under the water and then immediately climbed out, waiting expectantly. The miraculous blue light activated and swaddled her in its warm glow, lingering as it soothed her throat and head. She turned her deeply cut hands up toward it and let the light ease the pain out of them. She smiled. With "bathing facilities" like these, who needed a sarcophagus? Two or three more "baths" and she probably wouldn't even have scars.  
  
The light disappeared and Sam was dry and feeling better. Not completely well, her head and back still throbbed with the unnatural presence of the Goa'uld, but at least she was still in control.  
  
"How do you feel?"  
  
"You inquire after my health?" the Goa'uld asked. "How touching. I am not dying, Samantha Carter. However, you are. It would be better for both of us --"  
  
"The sarcophagus is not an option." Sam gasped and went to her knees as fire exploded in her skull. She closed her eyes and scrunched her face up in response.  
  
"Stop."  
  
"You stop!" she yelled.  
  
Immediately, the Goa'uld calmed his indignant shuddering. Sam remained on her knees, trying to bring her breathing and her anger under control.  
  
"You are the most arrogant, insolent, barbaric, --"  
  
"Oh, I'm the barbarian?" Sam retorted angrily. "Just who infested who, here?" She rose on shaking legs.  
  
"I did not infest you. I am not a parasite."  
  
"From where I'm standing, you did and you are." She left the bathing room.  
  
"You will use the sarcophagus," he assured her. "The hunger alone will drive you to it."  
  
Sam's traitorous stomach rumbled as if agreeing with the Goa'uld. She scowled deeply, knowing that hunger was going to be a big problem. It already was. It had been days since she had eaten, and the blue light wasn't doing much to assuage her hunger.  
  
She had plenty of water, at least, but the quakes were far from subsiding. Judging from their frequency and severity, Ptah had estimated the quakes would continue for several more days, perhaps weeks. Could she hold on until help arrived?  
  
Sam had been overjoyed at hearing Selmac's voice and knowing that the guys were safe. Their timing had been impeccable, then, but where were they when Ptah had taken her? Why hadn't they intervened? Why the hell had they abandoned her when she had needed them the most?  
  
Tears welled in her eyes. She swiped at them angrily as she tried to focus on her situation. Okay, she reasoned, no one had betrayed her. The SGC was a busy place and they couldn't watch her every minute of every day. After all, the universe didn't revolve around Major Samantha Carter. The Gate must have been shut down while the Goa'uld had... violated her.  
  
She shuddered, caught in the nightmare of his hands groping her body, of the feeling of him, inside her mouth, the excruciating pain as he forced himself into her.  
  
Sam quashed her emotions ruthlessly, fleeing into soldier mode. She would bury herself in the logistics of getting herself out of this situation. She'd let the Tok'Ra take Ptah out of her head. Then, she would teach the snake the meaning of that Tau'ri expression: payback is a bitch.  
  
  
  
She turned her thoughts to the monitoring equipment. The most logical explanation was that it was still in place above her, letting the SGC "see" her and Ptah. She wondered how they had re-activated it. How were they reacting to what Ptah had done? They would naturally assume that she was under the Goa'uld's influence now. She had to try to get a message to them, somehow, let them know she was still herself...sort of.  
  
Sam walked over to the pile of clothes where Ptah's former host had lain, and picked up the ribbon device, fitting it onto her left hand. Then she turned her attention to the radio. "This radio is shot, thanks to you," she said. "We'll have to use the one on the Pel'tac."  
  
She moved across the room to the transport rings. "By the way, attacking me wasn't such an intelligent move, considering that all our actions are being monitored."  
  
"Yes, how exactly does Hammond of Texas see us?" Ptah asked.  
  
"Magic," she answered sourly, borrowing a line from the Colonel. She stepped down into the transportation circle, grasping the safety rail with her gloved hand, and brought her right hand down onto the glove's control crystal. Rings shot up from the floor and enveloped her within their curtain of light energy. Sam's body was reorganized to fit into the transporter's matter stream, and reassembled on the Pel'tac seconds later. "How did it know to stop here?" she wondered aloud.  
  
"Magic," said the voice in her head.  
  
Sam pursed her lips in a small, rueful smile. Okay, she'd deserved that.  
  
***  
  
Amon-Ptah was tired, weak, and in pain.  
  
It had taken a lot of work and the female had fought hard against his efforts, but finally he had managed to place her into a deep sleep. Now, it was time for him to assert himself more fully.  
  
Amon-Ptah knew human physiology better than anyone. Direct input into the nervous system was by no means the only way to manipulate a host. While Samantha Carter tried unsuccessfully to make the radio work, Amon- Ptah had taken advantage of her distraction.  
  
He sang to her.  
  
The Creator-god was well aware that one third of the host's spinal cord consisted of nerve tract bundles whose sole purpose was the transmission of vibration sense data to the hypocampus, the brain's emotional processing area. By playing the sound frequency pulse waves directly into her body, Amon-Ptah would, in time, be able to exert a profound effect on his host's will.  
  
He delivered stimulation directly to the cellular tissue. Samantha Carter's cells picked up the vibrations, changing their activity in response to the stimuli. The nerves responded to the change in cellular activity and gave the appropriate commands to her brain.  
  
  
  
Amon-Ptah's song was as old as his species: a primal lullaby used by his pre-sentient ancestors to subdue their hosts. Millennia ago, Primitive Goa'uld used hosts only to mate. Upon blending, the Goa'uld underwent a long, slow metamorphosis. In order to pro-create, they needed the reproductive organs of the Unas that shared their planet. The Goa'uld would remain within the host for the next two-hundred years - the rest of its natural life-cycle. During that time it would seed the water with thousands of larva, most of which would die within hours of being spawned as Unas and older, unblended Goa'uld flocked to the spawning grounds to feast on the young hatchlings. For the Goa'uld, life had always been a matter of survival of the fittest.  
  
Then the Ancients came to the Goa'uld's world. The Ancients had changed everything.  
  
  
  
The Ancient Ones had tried to exploit the curative powers of primitive Goa'uld. By introducing naquadah into the Goa'uld's genetic make-up, into their DNA, the Ancients fooled their own frail bodies into accepting the symbiote as if it were a part of them. As a result the Ancient's health and life-span was immediately improved. But they had underestimated the creatures they had sought to subdue, and were themselves, quickly subjugated - all ten of those who had come to the Goa'uld home world by ship.  
  
It was Ra who discovered the humans. Excellent hosts, they were both beautiful in form and easy to maintain, making them far more desirable than the sickly Ancient ones. And with an infinite capacity for learning, they were far superior to the Unas.  
  
  
  
Amon-Ptah set the scales in his body to quivering as discreetly as possible. He was out of practice, working only from genetic memory. In all his life, he had never personally had to use the song. As he sang, he felt its power. It awakened within him a primal longing, both thrilling and terrifying. The song called out to him, to shrug off fifteen thousand years of artfully induced evolution, to regress into that wild and simple state his kind had lost touch with. He would have to be careful, lest the song's siren call just as easily dominate him as it would his host. For now, the quivering simply sang of her need to rest, and despite resistance on her part, Samantha Carter soon succumbed to the demands of the song.  
  
The woman was asleep, for now. The muscles in her face and along her neck and back were relaxed, easing Amon-Ptah's pain. He needed to build his strength for the challenge ahead. He forced himself to rest, letting the gentle rise and fall of the sleeping body soothe him. He was seriously stressed and in need of the sarcophagus, but the human stubbornly refused to use it. For the time being, she had the greater control over her will. Amon-Ptah would have to work hard to soften her resolve. Hunger could be used against her, but it was a two-edged sword. The weaker she became with the hunger, the weaker Amon-Ptah would become, and the less adept at singing the song.  
  
Presently, Amon-Ptah sensed a stirring within the woman's body. She was already awakening. Amon-Ptah prepared himself, resolving to do nothing to anger the host, no matter how difficult she became. He had to keep her calm and receptive. It was time to change the focus of the song. He would concentrate on the words of the song, sing only the song.  
  
"Good day, Samantha Carter," he gently drummed onto her cochlea. "I trust you slept well."  
  
______________________  
  
  
  
Sam awoke slowly, her head nestled into her crossed arms. She was on the Pel'tac. She had fallen asleep at the main console, waiting for more news from the surface. The radio had remained silent since Selmac had first contacted them. Her head felt heavy - congested with the physical presence of the Goa'uld. She opened her eyes and grimaced, her right eye needing more time to adjust to Ptah's presence within it. She breathed in a deep, slow breath, and raised her head slowly, resisting the urge to rub the eye that Ptah had tapped into. "Still there, huh?"  
  
She wondered what time it was. Was it day or night on the surface? How long had it been since she had gotten word from Selmac? Surely, not more than two days. And before that? How long had she been on the ship? One thing Sam did know, she was going to be here for awhile. She had better make good use of her time, learn what she could while she still had the strength. If nothing else, it would take her mind off her burning hunger.  
  
  
  
"So, nice ship."  
  
"Thank you. What about it pleases you in particular?"  
  
The civil response took Sam by surprise. "Ah, well," she stammered. "It's big - really big. And luxurious. Reminds me of the pleasure cruise ships of Earth. Then there's the death gliders - a lot of death gliders. And, oh yeah, a children's section. Not something you see every day on a Goa'uld warship. Restaurant service could be a lot better, though."  
  
"Death gliders?"  
  
"Those winged aircraft down on fifth level?"  
  
"Ah, udajeets. You have been aboard many ha'tak?"  
  
"A few." She decided not to share the fact that she had blown them all up.  
  
"Are those ships much different than this one?"  
  
"Well, you know how it is, Ptah, --"  
  
"Amon-Ptah."  
  
"Ten thousand years is a long time, even for the Goa'uld. Since you've been gone, your species has managed to steal some pretty impressive technology and incorporate it into your designs, but I've never seen a Goa'uld ship quite this extravagant."  
  
Don't push him, Carter, she chided herself. Ptah was surprisingly docile, not even flinching at her barbs. Maybe he was dying, after all. Maybe he was already too weak to expend energy on being insulted.  
  
She felt strange. She definitely hated her situation - what was there to like about it? Certainly not the 'buried alive' part, or the 'Goa'uld in her head' part. Having nothing to eat and no hope of rescue for at least several days was no fun either. Why should she expect to be anything but waspish and sarcastic? Yet, at the same time, she also felt calm, almost relaxed. Indifferent. She was coping far better than she had expected.  
  
Sam stared, unseeing, at the console. She knew that her endorphin levels must be high for her to feel this calm. Her body wouldn't be able to keep that up for long. How long would she have to wait for rescue? Absently, she ran a hand over the silent communication device.  
  
"How do you tell the time in here?"  
  
"I don't."  
  
Sam frowned. "What do you mean, you don't?  
  
"I mean, I do not measure the passage of time."  
  
"Because you don't need to, or because you can't?"  
  
"Disconcerting, is it not?" he said. "With no way to mark its passage, time is meaningless. There is no night or day in this place. Nor can trust your body's natural rhythms. How long were you asleep, just now? Minutes? Hours? A day? Without food, your body will weaken and you will need to sleep more often. Each time you awaken, you will become more confused. Seconds will seem to stretch, minutes will take forever to pass, the hours and days will become unbearable. Yet, rescue will not come for weeks. Stasis is the only way to preserve your life, and your sanity."  
  
"Forget it, Ptah. We are not using the sarcophagus."  
  
Ptah didn't answer, remaining completely still within her as Sam went back to staring at the changeless console. How long had she been staring at the same spot, seconds? Minutes? She started a count in her head.  
  
One, one thousand, two, one thousand, three, one thousand, four, one thousand. As she counted, expressions came to mind: Time flies...five, one thousand, six, one thousand...time stands still... seven, one thousand...time slows down near a wormhole....  
  
... Fifteen, one thousand, sixteen, one thousand, seventeen, one thousand.... The hands of time, time in a bottle.... Those were song titles, weren't they? Yes, she remembered. They were. She hummed a few bars of Time in a Bottle as she kept count in her mind. Fifteen, one- thousand, sixteen, one-thousand, seventeen, one thousand....  
  
.... Twenty-seven, one thousand....a watched pot never boils...twenty- eight, one thousand...dinner time - no! Whatever you do, don't think about food...twenty-nine, one thousand...a stitch in time saves nine.... twenty-nine, one thousand....  
  
... Time is a frame of reference by which physical quantities like position, motions and velocities are measured...thirty-fi... uh, twenty- five? She frowned. Dammit! She'd already lost count.  
  
This was crazy. Suddenly, all she cared about, all she could think about, was what time it was. It was like being on a diet and thinking of nothing but chocolate. Her fingers drummed nervously on the console.  
  
She had to think. It was hard. Her head hurt too much. "All right," she said, forcing her brain to work. "There must be a... timing device in your ship's systems," she said. "We could start a countdown, --"  
  
"Yes, we could."  
  
Of course! Sam grinned in relief. She should have thought of that earlier. She motioned to the console. "Great! What do I do?"  
  
"You will do nothing. I will not allow you to use the ship's systems as a timepiece."  
  
"Ptah --"  
  
"Only I can authorize access to the necessary systems, and I refuse. I will grant access only to the sarcophagus."  
  
"Ptah!"  
  
"I am Amon-Ptah, and, to borrow from a phrase, forget it, Samantha. You are not using the console."  
  
***  
  
  
  
Jack sat on a stool, watching SG-11's scientists run tests on the stones brought back from P4N-285. So far, the geologists hadn't been able to tell much about them, except that they were definitely alien. They had needed to analyze their structure with a special piece of equipment found only in Carter's lab.  
  
It wasn't really Carter's lab. No name plate on the door claimed it for her private use, but to Jack, this was her place. That was her computer console Ryder was using. That was Carter's microscope, Carter's electron scanner. He looked up at the shelf. And those were Carter's violets.  
  
  
  
A Colonel didn't get many excuses to buy his second in command flowers, so when, on a mission, she had shyly admitted to talking to her plants, Jack had jumped at the chance, disguising the gesture behind a joke....  
  
  
  
"Carter."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Got something for ya."  
  
".... Sir?"  
  
He had stood just inside the door to the lab. "Now you can prattle on about science all day if you like, and it'll never interrupt you."  
  
She grinned. One of her big ones. So big she had to close her eyes just to make room on her face for it. Jack smiled back. He loved being able to make her do that.  
  
She left her gizmo-strewn workbench to take the little pot from him. Gently, she stroked one of the violet's fuzzy leaves. "What color will the flowers be?" she asked.  
  
Jack's crooked smile broadened. He shrugged. "Don't know yet. Maybe you could talk 'em into being your favorite."  
  
She had laughed, completely at ease with his humor and the sentiment behind his gesture. It had been an uncomplicated moment for them both. Just open, honest friendship with none of the awkward tension that had developed between them since Anise had plugged them into her dammed zatarc-love-detector.  
  
The flowers were purple, of course. Her favorite color. Jack had made sure about that. Not two weeks after he gave it to her, the little African violet bloomed profusely, as it had ever since.  
  
He frowned as he looked at the plant now. The leaves looked limp, the flowers, wilted. He went over to it and reached a finger into the pot. The soil was moist, so someone had watered it recently. He sighed as he gently rubbed a furry leaf between his fingers. "Yeah," he whispered softly to it. "I miss her too."  
  
  
  
Jack turned back to watching the scientists. Ryder sat at the console, Harris stood over her, speaking quietly while he pointed at various figures and images on the screen. Ryder responded with one-word answers as she brought up yet more information on the computer. Jack rubbed his thumb over his soiled finger, wishing it was Carter sitting there, oohing and aahing over the alien marbles. Safe.  
  
Unlike SG-1's scientists, these two didn't need talk in order to communicate. But they were too quiet. Jack had gotten used to Sam's and Daniel's lively style, of the verbal ping-pong they often played whenever they unraveled some new mystery of the cosmos. Even if most of the things they said were way over Jack's head, his kids were a lot more fun to watch than these two.  
  
"Getting anywhere?"  
  
Lieutenant Harris turned away from the computer, as though surprised that someone else was in the room. "Yes, Sir, I think we are getting somewhere. As you're no doubt aware, naquadah behaves like a pure, transuranic element. Normally, that would classify it as a manufactured element, except that it isn't radioactive, it's stable, and it occurs naturally on planets that meet certain geo-physical and astro-physical -- "  
  
"Yeah, I'm no doubt aware of all that," Jack waved a hand impatiently.  
  
"Right," Harris said apologetically. He inhaled deeply, as though he expected Jack to be impressed with the news he was about to spring on him. "We think thorstone might actually be an isotope of naquadah."  
  
Jack had called the alien marbles thorstones, and the name had stuck, but he had no idea what trans...Atlantic elements were, much less what an isotope was. "And this is a good thing?" he asked.  
  
"Well, yes and no, Sir," Harris admitted. "At the least, it might explain why the ship can't break free of its hole, and why Major Carter can't get a message to us."  
  
He gestured toward the box of alien stones on the table. "To use an analogy familiar to us, Earth has a significant amount of molten iron in its core. The iron in Earth's core spins in one direction, and that spin influences the ferromagnetic solid rock found in the planet's crust. We think that something similar is happening on P4N-285 between the planet's core and the thorstone. The core of P4N-285 probably has large amounts of molten naquadah which is acting like a gigantic superconductor, influencing the thorstones movement in the crust. See," he pointed to the monitor. It showed a cutaway image of a planet, like the drawings in every high school natural sciences textbook. At the center of the circle was a solid red core. Growing outwards from the core were different colored bands representing, Jack supposed, the various layers of P4N's geology. Within the thin outermost crust layer of the planet was an even thinner band of tiny green dots. A pyramid had been drawn into the crust section to represent Ptah's ship. "These green dots represents thorstone," Harris explained, running his finger around the topmost circle of the drawing. The core represents molten naquadah. The glowing pyramid represents naquadah in its active state."  
  
Ryder taped a key, choreographing her movements to her teammate's speech. The image on the screen became animated. The small red core began to turn clockwise, the thin, green band in the crust responded by moving in the same direction, like metal influenced by a magnet. The pyramid, caught in the middle, lost its glow.  
  
"So, I was right?" Jack said. "Thorstone makes naquadah stop working?"  
  
"Yes, Sir, but only under certain conditions," Harris replied. "Remember, we're using a naquadah reactor to power the systems on the tethersonde," he said. "And there's the fact that the Gate works, even in the hole."  
  
On cue, Ryder tapped the keyboard and the little green dots disappeared over the pyramid. The pyramid lit up again. "Near as we can tell, for solid naquadah to become inert, it needs to be sandwiched between the super conducting molten naquadah core and the thorstone's energy field," Harris said.  
  
"Okay," Jack said. "Well, we knew we'd be digging, so --"  
  
Harris shook his head. "Nobody foresaw this situation, Sir. With the stones in motion, any holes we dug would just get re-filled by the lahar. There'd be no way to keep from burying ourselves ali...." Harris stopped short, blanching as he realized what he had just said.  
  
"Explosives?"  
  
Harris shook his head again, relieved at being able to get back on topic. "We ran some simulations. The mineral this stuff is made of is so hard it makes diamond look like talc. In fact, thorstone is so hard that even the pressure the planet exerts on them doesn't seem to affect them. We still don't understand how topsoil can exist on P4N-285, let alone support plant and animal life. If Earth had that kind of movement in its crust, the planet would've turned into one big dust-ball a long time ago."  
  
Jack picked up a stone and examined it carefully. This marble had been rolling around inside that planet for god only knew how long, and yet he couldn't see a single mark of wear on it. "So what do we do?"  
  
The Lieutenant puffed out a sigh. "The only thing we can think of is to somehow get under it: tunnel into the caverns surrounding the ship and blast a hole in the roofs of those caverns. The stones would fall into the holes, arresting their flow, or at least slowing them down. A very large crew working round the clock could then clear the area around the ship."  
  
Jack frowned. "It can't be that easy or the snake would've done that ten thousand years ago."  
  
"First of all, Sir, there'd be nothing easy about it. When I say a large crew, I mean large. At least a thousand men, and specialized equipment on the site. The earth-moving machinery that we can fit through the Gate is too small, but even if we could send in our biggest rigs, the area we'd have to clear is enormous. There's no way of knowing what size crew the Goa'uld had with him, but, I'd wager he didn't have digging equipment on that ship. Even if he did, if it was based-based technology...."  
  
Jack nodded. "Okay, so we tunnel through 'til we reach the ship. How long will.... Will you stop that!" he said in exasperation as Harris and Ryder both shook their heads again.  
  
"Sorry, Sir," Harris said sympathetically. "I don't know if we could tunnel through this stuff, but even if we could, we'd need to build an infrastructure to keep the stones from filling it in after us. With the Gate restricting the size of our equipment, it would still take several weeks, maybe even months to reach the ship."  
  
Jack's hand clenched over the stone he held, understanding what Harris was really trying to say; Carter didn't stand a chance, not by any means available to the SGC.  
  
"Sir, what about the Asgard?" Harris suggested. "Couldn't they just, you know, beam her out?"  
  
"Probably," Jack said. "Daniel's already been to Cimmeria to see if he could get in touch with them, but there was no-body-body home. The Asgard still have that "don't call us, we'll call you" attitude that the Tok'Ra used to be so fond of."  
  
"And, I don't suppose the Tok'Ra have technology that isn't based- based."  
  
"As a matter of fact, we do."  
  
Jack's head shot up, a look of consternation on his face at the sound of those dual tones. "Anise?" An unreasoning anger rose within him. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"We came in between Gate dial-ups," Jacob answered, coming in behind his Tok'Ra companion.  
  
Anise walked into the lab and over to the computer console and studied the animated display. "Interesting," she exclaimed, looking genuinely surprised at the level of sophistry in the molecular model. "May I?"  
  
"Why?" Jack asked, eyeing Jacob reproachfully. Why did he have to bring her along?  
  
Anise pulled a data pad out of her satchel. "I have tunneling crystals, Colonel. I would like to see which, if any, are compatible with this mineral. If so, and if we can get onto the planet, it will give us a quicker and a safer way to reach the ship and rescue Major Carter.  
  
Jack's face softened immediately. He held a hand out to the computer, inviting Anise to use it, his natural animosity toward the usually meddlesome alien fading. Emma Ryder stood, offering her seat to the Tok'Ra, but Anise ignored it. She lay her data pad near the console and compared her notes with Ryder's, inputting various figures, looking for a molecular combination that was to her liking.  
  
"This is truly an exciting find," she said enthusiastically. "It will require a combination of crystals I have yet to use."  
  
"So, you can tunnel through this stuff?"  
  
Anise shook her head as she studied the screen, oblivious to the irritation that gesture provoked in Jack. "Finding the correct combination, if it exists at all, will take time."  
  
"Carter doesn't have time!" Jack spat angrily. The Tok'Ra turned to look at him and he saw the change from Anise to the human host, Freya. She opened her mouth to speak but Jack threw up a hand. "Sorry," he said quickly. "Really. I am. I wasn't.... You know." He backed towards the door. "Try to make good time. Harris, Ryder."  
  
Harris nodded. "We'll fill her in on everything we've learned so far."  
  
Jack fled the lab, grateful to get away. Much as he disliked Anise, he actually preferred dealing with the Tok'Ra than with her host. At least the snake didn't have a thing for him.  
  
He fell in step beside Jacob Carter, noting the hard expression on the older man's face. "What's up, Jacob?"  
  
"Bad news," was his short reply. Jack shot him a look, but the older man stared straight ahead, his jaw set. The two made their way to the briefing room in silence.  
  
_______________  
  
  
  
"So, Jacob, you think the Tok'Ra are planning to destroy Ptah's ship, with Major Carter on board?"  
  
Jacob glared at his friend. "They cut me out of their discussion, George, you're damned right I think that's what they've got planned."  
  
"I don't get it," Daniel said, shaking his head. "Ptah's been gone for ten thousand years. He has no army. Do the Tok'Ra really think he's that dangerous?"  
  
Selmac's deep voice rose in Jacob's throat as he answered the question. "Amon-Ptah is the undisputed king among the System Lords. A king who never held territory and who never tried to usurp any of the other System Lords. He is the only one who freely and willingly gave away technology for the advancement of the Goa'uld. These qualities in themselves greatly endear him to the Goa'uld. But what makes him even more dangerous is the mythology surrounding him and his absence. Amon- Ptah is the first god of the Goa'uld. It was he who brought order and reason to the species. To the Goa'uld, Ptah is God."  
  
Jack shook his head in disbelief. "The snakes have a god?"  
  
"Well, as far as they're concerned, Path is the one who brought true sentience to the Goa'uld," Daniel reminded Jack. He looked to Selmac for confirmation. "I imagine that before that, the Goa'uld were no more advanced than... well, snakes?"  
  
Selmac eyed Daniel steadily. "Yes."  
  
"The System Lords are fractured by in-fighting and territorial wars," Teal'c said. "Amon-Ptah has become a sort of tie that binds among even the strongest Goa'uld. The legends say that when Amon-Ptah returns he will bring unity and harmony to all creation, under the Goa'uld.  
  
"And lots of toys for good Goa'ulds and boys," Jack muttered.  
  
"Ptah's ship is impressive, even by today's standards, and the Tau'ri are a thorn in the System Lord's side," Selmac continued. "Major Carter is at risk of becoming a host, and updating Ptah on the present situation. He would learn of the Asgard's difficulty in enforcing the treaty protecting Earth. The Goa'uld would see Ptah's return as a signal to disregard the Asgard treaty, put aside their own differences, and destroy you, along with many other worlds."  
  
"What better banner to raise to unite the Goa'uld than an easy victory against a common enemy," Teal'c agreed somberly.  
  
"Good PR value for the long lost king." Jack said.  
  
"I believe the council will see it this way as well. They will most likely decide that it is best that Ptah remain hidden forever. It has been difficult enough to fight the Goa'uld in their present fractured state. If their most revered icon was to be resurrected...."  
  
"But still," Daniel sputtered. "Isn't this a little drastic? Isn't it possible that the council could decide to send in a... I don't know, a Tok'Ra special ops team to rescue Sam and then kill Ptah?"  
  
"Are you sure this doesn't have more to do with keeping that ship out of our hands?" Jack asked bitterly.  
  
Jacob took over from his symbiote. He gave Jack a piercing glare. "No offense, but Earth isn't ready for anything like what that ship has," he said. "You might not like the Tok'ra's attitude, Jack, but this is me talking: Jacob, not Selmac. I spent my last twenty years on Earth in Washington, I know how the policy makers think."  
  
Jacob interrupted Jack's attempt at a retort. "And if you'll recall, I was the Tok'Ra's advisor to the Asgard when your little rogue units were off stealing from your allies. Your own report said that the stolen technology would likely have been used right here on Earth, against other humans. What would an organization like the NID do with Ptah's ship, assuming they could make it work in the first place?"  
  
Jacob scowled at some reproof from within, then lowered his head with a sigh. Selmac resurfaced, and tried to bring the two men back to the subject at hand. "The Tok'Ra have lost a great many operatives lately," Selmac said. "Even alone, Ptah is not one to be trifled with. The Gate is unusable and they won't want to risk the Tel'tac sinking into the soil. I agree with Jacob's assessment; the council will most likely decide that Ptah needs to be liquidated from space. That is why we lost no time in returning."  
  
"The council doesn't know you're here."  
  
Jacob resumed control. "That's right, George. I don't give a damn about the ship. I'm just here to get my kid back. If Sam was to have any chance at all, we had to get out before we got orders to stay put."  
  
"Wait a minute," Jack said. "Anise agreed to come, too?"  
  
Jacob shrugged. "She doesn't know yet. I knew she'd be too excited about seeing your rocks to question me."  
  
"Couldn't you have just brought the tunneling crystals yourself?" Jack grumbled.  
  
Jacob shook his head. "Not my area of expertise. You don't tunnel through a planet by throwing a few crystals on the ground and saying some magic words. It's an exact science. Once she's found the right combination I'll get her to coach me. We'll send her home and she won't get into any trouble."  
  
"But you will?" Daniel said.  
  
Jacob shrugged again. "Not that it would've stopped me, but nobody said I couldn't come."  
  
At that moment a soldier came bounding up the stairs from the control room. "Airman?" General Hammond asked brusquely.  
  
"Sorry, Sirs, but something's happening on the ship. It looks like Major Carter has been taken by the Goa'uld."  
  
***  
  
  
  
Amon-Ptah stared out into blackness. The woman had fashioned a patch over her right eye. What little sound he heard was muffled by an obstruction she had put in her ear. She was trying to punish him by shutting him out, but he knew that wouldn't last long. She was a very curious human, who never stopped asking questions. Amon-Ptah had always valued intelligence and curiosity in his people. Under favorable circumstances, Samantha Carter would have made an excellent host for one of his children.  
  
But the circumstances were anything but favorable, and he did not appreciate the role Samantha Carter of the Tau'ri was forcing him to play, as though he was a mere slave stationed behind a curtain, coming forward only to satisfy her whim. Once he found the way to gain control of his host, she would be punished, most severely. No creature who treated the King of the gods with such insolence could be allowed to remain alive. He quashed his irritation as the obstruction came away from her ear.  
  
"Did you ever try to reach the surface on foot?"  
  
"Many times."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And I am still here." Amon-Ptah steeled himself against antagonizing her, keeping the rhythm of his song steady as he tried to erode her resolve. He heard the swirling of water, and recognized that they were back in the bathing room again. Samantha Carter spent much of her time here, now, having figured out how to use the ribbon device to set the temperature of the water.  
  
"So...why'd you come here, anyway?"  
  
"I came to build this ship," he replied. "And to build within it, a better society."  
  
"A better society? What, like a real-life version of your bathtub?"  
  
Amon-Ptah clamped down on his anger with difficulty. "I loved my people, and they loved me. I was more than a god, I was a Father to them. The lowliest among them was no less happy, no less cared for than the greatest."  
  
She shook her head. "The Goa'uld are not gods, Ptah, we both know that," she said. "And I wonder how long your slaves believed it, stuck down here with no way out?"  
  
"My people loved me, whether or not they believed me to be a god. They were happy with me. They enjoyed great freedom of thought and speech. A mere child could stand before me and formulate a hypothesis without fear of censure, for I, Amon-Ptah, value truth and insight over all else."  
  
Sam snorted her disbelief. "And I bet they were ecstatic about being buried alive. And how about, starving to death? You say you value truth; did you actually admit the truth to them, that your real power comes from the people you infest? That without the naquadah in your system you're just another run-of-the-mill parasite?"  
  
Amon-Ptah seethed inwardly. Oh, how keenly he wished to strike mute this wretched creature! "They knew," Amon-Ptah said simply, remembering what his First Prime had told him.  
  
The woman huffed. "How could they not?"  
  
This was getting them no where, so Amon-Ptah wisely changed the subject. "As to the lack of sustenance," he said. "Even this food processing system, efficient as it is, cannot maintain itself indefinitely without raw materials."  
  
"The drive system?"  
  
"We did not begin construction of the ship's drives until after we had arrived. The entire cargo sections of engineering and gunnery level were filled with raw naquadah, awaiting refining. We were entirely buried before the drives were complete and operational."  
  
"So, what about the crew on the hyper-drive collar?" the woman asked. "Did they abandon you?"  
  
"There was no one on board at the time," Ptah said. "All its functions were automated."  
  
"But by then it was too late," Samantha Carter finished somberly. "The energy field emitted by the stones must have interfered with communication between the ship's drives and the orbiting hyper-drive collar."  
  
"Yes."  
  
  
  
As well as making travel through hyper-space possible, one of the hyper- drive's functions was to counteract the planet's attraction on the spacecraft's mass, making lift-off from a planet's surface easier. That was why the collars were so huge, with a greater surface area than the ships that nested within them.  
  
  
  
Samantha Carter sighed. "I guess that means this ship'll never get off the ground, or," she amended bitterly, "out, of the ground. The collar's orbit would have degraded millennia ago. It probably crashed onto the other side of the planet."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"That's..." She shook her head, deeply disappointed, "unfortunate."  
  
"We shall build another."  
  
"We?"  
  
"I, and the Great Hammond of Texas."  
  
Ptah was disturbed by the grimace he felt her make at his words. "Well, you'll have to talk that over with him."  
  
Amon-Ptah felt Samantha Carter rise and heard the swish of water as she left the bathing pool. He felt the healing lamp's soothing rays on his stressed-out body and tried not to think of how much better a session in the sarcophagus would be, if only the woman would listen to reason. Then she returned the obstruction to her ear, shutting him off from all external stimuli once more. Oh, well, he reasoned philosophically, he would use his time wisely and sing his song with less distraction. Then, perhaps her next question would be about the sarcophagus.  
  
___________________  
  
  
  
The Gate room was a hive of activity as work crews scrambled to do some much-needed maintenance. The SGC had kept its Stargate active ever since they had first picked up the Major's life sign on the ship, and though constant use had no ill effects on the alien artifact, the less exotic Earth equipment that festooned it was starting to show stress.  
  
Suddenly the Gate activated from off-world, sending the maintenance crew hurrying away from the Gate, and the SFs hurrying toward it to take up defense positions.  
  
"It's a Tok'Ra signal, Sir"  
  
Jack growled and took off for the Gate room. "She just couldn't keep her big mouth shut, could she?"  
  
General Hammond sighed. "Open the iris."  
  
  
  
Freya stumbled through the Stargate, lugging a case that looked too large and too heavy even for the strength of a Tok'Ra. She stood off the ramp, and looked back at the event horizon from which she had just come. When the incoming wormhole shut down she gave an audible sigh of relief and carefully lowered her cumbersome burden.  
  
Jack looked at her quizzically. "Expecting someone to come through with you?"  
  
Freya shook her head. "I was hoping no one would follow me. I tried to make my escape as discreet as possible."  
  
Jack's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Your escape?"  
  
She looked up at the control room and called out to General Hammond. "I suggest you activate the Stargate immediately. It would be best that the Tok'Ra not be able to access the Tau'ri at this time."  
  
Jack regarded her sharply. "Why? What's going on?" Behind him, the Gate started spinning.  
  
Freya hesitated a moment and Anise took the opportunity to interject. "I have returned despite direct orders from the High Council that I remain on Vorash. I am afraid the news I bring is not good, Colonel."  
  
Jack's eyes narrowed and his face took on a dangerous look. "Tok'Ra planning on blowing up another planet?" he asked bitterly.  
  
Anise looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Or something to that effect." She walked away, heading for the briefing room.  
  
The men of SG-1, General Hammond and Jacob Carter quickly assembled in the briefing room to hear what Anise had to say.  
  
"The High Council has sent word to the operative who is using the Tel'tac. He is to finish his mission as quickly as possible and proceed to Ptah's planet. He is under orders to destroy the Goa'uld from space."  
  
"Even knowing that it's Sam on that ship?" Daniel asked, incredulous.  
  
"Especially knowing that it's Sam," Jacob said, his voice tight.  
  
"If what you say is true and he has taken Major Carter as a host, then Ptah has become an even greater threat than before," Anise explained needlessly. "She --." Jack's angry glare cut the Tok'Ra off. "I am sorry," she said softly.  
  
Jack grimaced in anger. The Tok'Ra never seemed to run out of new ways to be pains in the ass, but this time, they had outdone themselves. He cocked his head and regarded Anise thoughtfully, remembering that her being here was against orders. "Why'd you come back?"  
  
"The High Council thought it best to wait until after Ptah had been neutralized to tell you of their plan." She cast a sympathetic glance at Jacob. "They were unwilling to allow you to attempt a rescue out of fear that you would fail."  
  
"But you came anyway," Jack said, insistent.  
  
"I have brought a Goa'uld extraction device," she answered. "Hopefully we will be able to reach Major Carter and extract the Goa'uld before the operative can reach the planet. Have you succeeded in raising the Stargate on... P4N...?"  
  
"285," General Hammond finished for her. "No."  
  
The room fell silent as Anise stared at the General in dismay. She rose from her seat and went to gaze out at the active Gate. She touched the glass as though reaching out to the shimmering wormhole reflected off it. "Then my coming here has accomplished nothing."  
  
Jack pursed his lips. This hardly sounded like the pragmatic snake Ph.D. he knew and distrusted. He got up and went to stand behind her. "You must be really anxious to study that snake," he began.  
  
The Tok'Ra whirled to glare at him, alien fire blazing in her eyes. "The Goa'uld means nothing to me. I happen to agree with the High Council. Ptah is a much greater threat than you can comprehend, and because of you he has now become that much more so."  
  
Jack stepped closer and stared defiantly into her eyes. "So I'll ask you again; why are you here? And don't tell me it's to rescue Carter, because I just don't think you like her enough to risk getting into this kind of trouble for her."  
  
They continued their staring match for a few seconds more before the Tok'Ra closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the alien glow was gone from her eyes, but the fire remained. Freya spoke, her voice tinged with anger. "I made Anise come."  
  
Jack's eyes went round in astonishment, then narrowed again. "Now how could you make her do that?"  
  
"Freya has an exceedingly hard head." Selmac said dryly.  
  
Jack pulled away from the woman, surprised at Selmac's tone. "And the snake listened to her?" Freya stared at the floor, suddenly abashed by Jack's public display of astonishment.  
  
"Anise's host can be quite forceful when she believes in something," Selmac answered.  
  
"Strong, silent type?" Jack quipped.  
  
"Give her a break, Jack, she's in enough trouble as it is," Jacob said wearily.  
  
"So, basically, you're committing an offense, rescuing Carter?"  
  
Freya raised her head. "Yes, Colonel. I am disregarding orders from the highest level of my government. However this mission turns out for Major Carter, there will be repercussions, for both Anise and myself."  
  
Jack's face softened from defiant to respectful. He turned to Jacob and said quietly. "No medals?"  
  
Jacob smiled ruefully at the oblique reference to the aborted ceremony in Washington, where the Colonel and his daughter were to receive the prestigious air-medal from the President, medals they'd earned by disobeying the President's orders and saving Earth from Apophis' fleet. "No medals, Jack."  
  
***  
  
  
  
Amon-Ptah was ill. He had never experienced motion sickness before - any form of sickness for that matter - and he was having difficulty adjusting.  
  
They were on gunnery level, in a vast, open area of the main storage hold, just above engineering. The woman had convinced him that Selmac was angry at Amon-Ptah for having blended with her. She had told him in graphic detail, how they had dispatched Sokar. If he did not want to share Sokar's fate, their only hope was to convince Selmac that Samantha Carter was still in charge. So, they had arrived at a compromise: she would allow him to see and hear, and he would allow her into certain areas of his ship. He had shown her the ship's layout, and the woman had made several forays into its stores for rope, naquadah crystals, a cementing compound and a staff weapon.  
  
Now, having secured herself with the rope, Samantha Carter was scampering about, cementing crystals onto the steeply inclined floor in the large, empty cargo area, laying them end to end in a pattern that was indecipherable to him. When he asked what she was doing, her facial muscles had tightened into a smirk.  
  
"Building a crystal radio," she had answered.  
  
The floor on this level tilted awkwardly and Amon-Ptah's discomfort was heightened by the skewed perspective that came from seeing out of only one eye - an eye that kept tearing up and blinking in reaction to his continued presence within it, making his view of things disjointed and blurry. The woman worked on her project without letup. Amon-Ptah did not interfere, not that he could have.  
  
Subduing Samantha Carter was proving much harder than he had anticipated. Cellular stimulation was so much less effective than nerve manipulation, and it was far more work.  
  
Ten thousand years of imprisonment should have made him more philosophical, but his new, worsened situation taxed his emotions more than he thought possible, making concentration difficult. His prison had shrunk from the confines of his ship to the confines of this hostile body, and he was forced to go wherever she dictated, to see only what she allowed him to see, to hear only what she chose to let him hear. Amon-Ptah was in no position to resist her. For the time being the woman's will was too strong, his influence too fragile. He couldn't even keep her near the sarcophagus. And he was getting weaker.  
  
He could tell by the symptoms that five days had passed since he had been awakened from stasis. The blue bathing light had quickly lost its curative effect, both for him and for the human. It was never meant to heal serious injuries, only to maintain the health and vigor of his harem, and to soothe the aches that passionate love-making frequently incurred in the unblended. Wisely, Amon-Ptah chose not to mention the light's true purpose to his easily offended host. Soon, however, his need for the sarcophagus' regenerative effects would become more overpowering than any need of the woman's.  
  
After what seemed an eternity, Samantha Carter stopped. She leaned back on her rope harness and surveyed her handiwork. Amon-Ptah saw the row of crystals laid out in blocky shapes, each shape connected to the other at their base in one continuous line. The only shape that was recognizable to him was the symbol of Amon-Ptah: the "was" scepter.  
  
Samantha Carter took the staff weapon and activated it. The casing pulled back from the weapon's discharge point, and she touched the staff's end to the crystal scepter. Instead of firing the staff, she allowed its heat energy to flow from it, into the crystals. The heat flowed along the rods until soon the entire assemblage glowed brightly.  
  
"Well, that's it." The woman stretched a hand out over the crystals. "Not too warm, but warm enough," she muttered to herself.  
  
"That's it?" Amon-Ptah asked, confused. "The crystal radio is complete?"  
  
"Complete and hopefully, transmitting," she answered. Using the rope, she wearily scaled the floor's steep incline back up to the transport ring. "Let's go to the Pel'tac and see if we get a response."  
  
Samantha Carter eyes swept over the glowing crystals, allowing Amon-Ptah one last look before the rings enveloped them and shot their bodies upward through the ship to the Pel'tac. Suddenly he understood. He felt a grudging admiration for the woman's resourcefulness.  
  
"Heat," Ptah said as the rings collapsed back into the floor on the Pel'tac level. "Your people see us by our heat signatures. You burned a message onto the hold floor for your people to read."  
  
"Yup."  
  
"What does the message say?"  
  
The woman sighed and sank into the chair, laying her crossed arms onto the Pel'tac console. She nestled her head into her arms. Ptah's world went dark as she closed her eyes.  
  
"Having a wonderful time," she murmured. "Wish you were here."  
  
_______________  
  
  
  
Sergeant Walter Davis pulled off his glasses, rubbed his eyes and massaged his aching temples. It felt like a lifetime, but in fact only eight days had passed since Major Carter's disappearance on P4N-285, and five days since he and practically everyone else at the SGC had set up camp in sight of their monitors, watching the drama unfold in living infrared.  
  
The Goa'uld had appeared to be behaving himself, at least he had up until three days ago. The SGC's Gate had shut down after its habitual thirty-eight minute window, and had re-opened twice: to allow SG-4 to return home, and, immediately afterward, to receive the Tok'Ra, Jacob and Anise. In the few minutes that the SGC had been disconnected from P4N-285, the Major had been attacked and taken over by the Goa'uld. So far, they hadn't tried radio contact with the Goa'uld. Walter couldn't imagine what they would have said to it if they had. It wasn't like they were in a position to do anything about it.  
  
Now, for the past several hours, Walter had watched the monitor as the red smudge that was Major Carter moved about on it. She stayed mostly in one area of the ship's lower level, her movements suggesting she was working on something. He felt his jaw tighten again, aggravating his headache. That's not her, he reminded himself. She's a Goa'uld now.  
  
Apparently, this Ptah was the smartest one of his kind, yet after ten thousand years, he was still trying to figure out how to get himself out of a simple hole in the ground. Walter knew the Major was an expert at getting out of holes - she'd even gotten the Earth out of a black hole once, and it hadn't taken her long to figure out how to do it. At least, not from his perspective. Walter had missed the action when the black hole on P3W-451 had threatened to suck the whole planet right through the Stargate. Time had gotten messed up by the effects of the gravity well coming through the Gate, and he had returned from a two week leave to find that only twenty four hours had passed deep inside the mountain. It was a good thing the Major had been on duty.  
  
He snorted softly. The Goa'uld thought they were so smart. Walter knew better. Major Carter was way smarter than they were. But now, she, too, was a Goa'uld. Ptah would probably be free very soon.  
  
Suddenly a point of brilliant red showed up on the monitor, right beside the Major's heat signature. Walter's eyes widened as the point of heat grew outward in a thin line, forming letters as it spread. "Airman," he called out excitedly to the soldier on duty in the control room. "Get the General."  
  
__________________  
  
  
  
Janet sat at the briefing room table with the men of SG-1, the General and the Tok'Ra, studying the infrared image before them.  
  
"You know of Machello?" Selmac asked in surprise.  
  
Janet looked at Daniel.  
  
"Uh, yeah... we met him personally," he said hesitantly. "He, uh...he, passed away...in our infirmary." Selmac's eyebrows shot up in stunned disbelief. "He was, uh...very old, and frail." Daniel bowed his head and cast a furtive glance at Janet.  
  
"And of course you didn't think to tell us this," Jacob said reprovingly, taking advantage of his symbiote's astonishment, to speak.  
  
"Hey!" Colonel O'Neill protested. "The Tok'Ra haven't exactly been that forthcoming either. You've got your secrets, we've got ours."  
  
"Should we not focus our energies on deciphering the meaning of the message?" Teal'c interjected, wanting to prevent yet another flair-up between the two quick-tempered men.  
  
The last eight days had been tough, the last three, even more so. The Gate had been re-activated continuously from the SGC since Sam had been infested, and though all were feeling the strain of being little more than helpless voyeurs at her plight, none felt it as deeply as Colonel O'Neill and General Carter. They tended to voice their frustrations at the most inopportune times.  
  
Daniel tapped the red glowing scepter on the monitor with his pen. "You were right , Teal'c, this looks like the "was" scepter, the symbol for Amon-Ptah."  
  
"I_L_L___M_A_C_H_E_L_L_O."  
  
Janet read the blocky letters that followed the hieroglyph representing Amon-Ptah. "Major Carter's telling us that the blending didn't take," Janet's voice was edged with optimism. "The Goa'uld must be too ill to control her."  
  
"How is this possible?" Anise asked.  
  
Janet looked at General Hammond. He nodded, giving her permission to speak. Janet recounted their experience with the dead Linvris and how Daniel, and then she, and the rest of SG-1 had been infected by Machello's devices. She told how Jolinar's protein marker, left behind in Sam's blood, had saved Teal'c from death and the others from madness. "The devices must have left a marker of their own," she reasoned. "An immunity to further Goa'uld infestation."  
  
The Colonel leaned forward in his seat, excited. "You mean to tell me that we're immune to the Goa'uld?"  
  
Janet shook her head. "I don't know, Sir. I put us through every test I could think of after that...experience." She grimaced at the unwelcome memory of having her body invaded by three alien devices, and of her rapid, uncontrollable decline into dementia. "I was looking specifically for just such an immunity, but the tests came up empty. `Of course, that doesn't mean anything. I couldn't even detect the devices when they were active in Daniel and Teal'c."  
  
"It would explain why Ptah has not used the sarcophagus since the infestation," Anise remarked.  
  
Jacob nodded in agreement. "Ptah's addicted. If he was in control, you can be sure he'd have used it by now."  
  
"Sam'll have to use it eventually, if we can't find a way to reach her," Daniel mused. All eyes turned to glare at him. "I'm just saying," he said defensively. "After all, it has been eight days, and we're no closer to getting the Gate out of its hole. Ptah's crew is dead, so they must have starved to death" He looked at Janet. "How long can Sam go without food?"  
  
"We don't know for sure that there's nothing to eat on board," Janet said. "If there isn't, then, unblended and uninjured, she could go for about a month on water alone. However, the Goa'uld is inside her and it has to eat too." She looked inquiringly at Anise.  
  
"Not knowing the nature or extent of Ptah's... illness, it is difficult to say," the Tok'Ra answered. "At any rate, Major Carter should avoid using the sarcophagus."  
  
"We've dealt with sarcophagus addiction before," Janet said.  
  
"No, this is different." the Colonel surprised everyone by agreeing with Anise. "Ptah will take over. You can be sure the sarc'll favor the snake over the host."  
  
"What if she puts herself into stasis?" Daniel asked. "Would that make a difference?"  
  
"It would at least keep Major Carter alive," Selmac admitted reluctantly.  
  
"Is there any chance that this could be a trick?" General Hammond asked. "Could Ptah be using the Major's knowledge about Machello to lull us?"  
  
Janet shrugged. "Anything's possible, Sir. On the other hand, it seems like a strange way to gain our trust, and I doubt he would deliberately go this long without using the sarcophagus."  
  
"And Carter would be putting up a fight," Colonel O'Neill said, tense. "He'd need the sarc just to stay in control."  
  
"We have to talk to her," Daniel said. "Tell her we got the message, tell her to hang on."  
  
"Tell her not to use the sarcophagus." Anise said.  
  
"Except as a last resort," Janet added. She glared at Anise as she addressed General Hammond. "Sir, I think the option should be left open to the Major. Frankly, I've had a lot more success dealing with addiction than with death."  
  
"Agreed," the General said decisively. "I just wish we had something positive to tell her."  
  
"I have found the proper combination of crystals to use to grow tunnels in the...thorstone," Anise offered, stumbling over the name Colonel O'Neill had given the mineral from P4N-285. "Once we are able to go to the planet, reaching the ship should not be a problem."  
  
"And Doctor Ryder thinks the quakes should start to subside in about another week," Daniel added.  
  
"At least that's a start," the General said. "Let's contact Major Carter. But first," he looked at Anise, maybe you should go back and tell the Tok'Ra high council about these developments. Convince them to hold back on attacking Ptah's ship."  
  
Anise grimaced and looked down at her hands. "Maybe you could send a radio signal, George," Jacob said quietly. "Anise...should lie low for awhile."  
  
The General looked from the Tok'Ra to The Colonel. Colonel O'Neill cocked his head and shrugged. "We have been having a little trouble getting that iris to stay open lately, haven't we, Sir?"  
  
General Hammond pursed his lips in a sly smile. "Yes, Colonel, our primitive electrical systems have been giving us a bit of trouble lately. Fortunately, the radio is still working."  
  
Jacob closed his eyes and shook his head, unable to keep from smiling at the lame excuse.  
  
***  
  
  
  
Sam groaned, trying to remember whom she had lost the fight with. She was stiff and sore. Her whole body tingled with electricity, and she groggily considered the possibility that she had been zatted. A voice - it sounded like her voice - was speaking to her in a monotone.  
  
"Samantha Carter, awaken."  
  
She cracked open her left eye. Her right eye hurt too much to open, like it had been the target of a well-aimed fist. She winced, as the sound of a man's voice added its blows to her already murderously pounding skull.  
  
"...mond. We received your message informing us of the Goa'uld's condition. We are presently..."  
  
Goa'uld? Sam sat up quickly as realization returned, swallowing against the wave of nausea that accompanied the sudden move. "General Hammond?" she rasped.  
  
"...to know you're all right."  
  
The sound of the General's voice drew her eyes to the console, and she stared at it in open-mouthed wonder, her discomfort forgotten. "It worked!" she whispered in awe. The Goa'uld within her quivered, and Sam sensed his excitement, causing every cell in her body to tingle. Her laughter came out in little gasps that bordered on hysteria. "It worked!"  
  
"Listen," the Goa'uld chided. For once Sam didn't argue, but nodded, concentrating on the General's words.  
  
"...so communication is going to be pretty restrictive, but for now we're going to ask you some questions that you should be able to answer with a "yes" or a "no.""  
  
Sam pulled back and frowned. How was she going to do that, since they obviously knew that the radio didn't work on her end?  
  
The General answered in his soft Texan drawl. "From our scans of your activity, we can see that the transport rings are to the north of your present position, so, for "yes," walk toward the transport ring and return. For "no," walk in the opposite direction, or south, and return. Do you understand?"  
  
Sam rose unsteadily from her seat and quickly stumbled in the direction of "yes," then returned to the console. She waited, shifting her balance from one foot to the other in eager expectation.  
  
"Good," came the reply.  
  
"Yes!" Sam cheered, giddy with excitement. "We're communicating in real- time."  
  
"First of all, we need to clarify your situation. Are we to understand that Ptah is unable to influence your actions?"  
  
Sam headed north, then returned.  
  
"Is there food on board?"  
  
"Not a damned thing, Sir," she muttered aloud, walking a few paces south of the console and returning to it.  
  
"Water?.... Good."  
  
Doctor Fraiser's voice sounded over the radio. "Alright, Major, basically, what you're doing is water-fasting."  
  
"Hey, Janet," Sam greeted her friend enthusiastically.  
  
"It's been eight days since you were...uh... taken, by the planet. Now, I know this may sound like a strange question, but, are you hungry?"  
  
Sam's face fell. "No, Janet...that...that can't be right!" Only eight days? It felt like she'd been stranded here for weeks."  
  
She had been hungry at first - ravenously so - especially since the healing light had lost its effect on her. So, how long ago had it actually been, she wondered. A day? Three? And how long before that had Ptah infested her? The urgent hunger pangs had diminished to a dull ache, like the aftereffects from a punch to the stomach. It was not nearly as bad as the incessant pounding in her skull. She went south and returned.  
  
"Major, you said that the Goa'uld wasn't affecting your actions, but would you say that it is having a physical effect on you?" Janet asked quietly.  
  
The radio remained silent long after Sam returned from answering "yes," to Janet's query. Had the transmission been cut, she wondered. "Come on!" Nervous, Sam tapped the console with her fist, trying to coax a voice from it. Presently Janet spoke again.  
  
"All right, Major, you're working too hard. You have to rest. I mean it. No more running around over there. Keep drinking plenty of water, but remember, you're not getting any protein, and all that water is going to flush minerals from your body. You should expect muscle cramps and dizziness, and swelling in the later stages from edema."  
  
"Oh yeah," Sam muttered, automatically walking north. "Got all that."  
  
"Sam," Her friend dropped the use of her rank. Her voice took on an angry, anxious tone. "Are you saying you've already started to experience these symptoms?"  
  
Sighing, she headed north yet again. Unblended, Sam knew she would have been able to last for nearly a month without food before mineral depletion became a serious problem, but with a parasite in her body she was fasting for two and expected to fail more rapidly - she just hadn't expected it to be this rapidly.  
  
The Goa'uld took nourishment directly from the bloodstream, and apparently, Ptah's appetite matched his ego, despite his assurances that he was "restricting his diet lest he kill his own host." Nonetheless, Sam knew she was suffering from the early symptoms of starvation: muscle cramps, severe fatigue, and edema - swelling in her abdominal cavity - as her weakened cell walls thinned too much to retain fluids within them. Sam also knew that by weakening her physically, the parasite hoped to weaken her resolve.  
  
Sam could sense Ptah's need. The urge to feed his addiction was as great as her own hunger for food. He shivered constantly from withdrawal, creating a subtle, enervating itch throughout her body that was impossible to relieve. But, if the effects of Daniel's addiction and the Tok'Ra's own deep-rooted fear weren't enough, the danger of being overpowered by an angry Goa'uld already in her head gave Sam plenty of incentive to stay away from the sarcophagus. She was terrified that the Goa'uld healing bed might neutralize whatever immunity Machello's toxin had provided her with.  
  
She wanted to live, but not at any price, and at the moment, the price for staying alive was greater than she was willing to pay. If she was going to have to choose between deaths, she would take permanent oblivion over the living death of possession by a Goa'uld, any day. And because of this, her father's suggestion shocked Sam to the core.  
  
"Sam," her father's voice sounded over the radio, taking over from Janet's. "Digging the ship out is going to take too long, so we're going to use our tunneling technology to reach you."  
  
"Dad!" She frowned worriedly. "I hope it isn't based-based because --"  
  
Her father continued, deaf to the sound of her voice, "I'm sure you'll be interested to know that the thorstones flowing through the planet's crust are an isotope of naquadah, and that is what's rendering all naq- based tech inoperable. Don't worry, kid, we've already determined that the tunneling crystals will work."  
  
Sam grinned in delight. "Great!... Thorstones, huh? Good name." She already knew that the mineral holding her prisoner was an isotope of naquadah. She and Ptah had had plenty of time to discuss the strange stones and their possible affect on their situation.  
  
"Sam," her father's tone became more serious. "Getting to you is going to take time. The quakes won't be over for at least another week, possibly longer. Doctor Fraiser thinks your condition is deteriorating too rapidly. Kid...you're going to have to make a hard decision."  
  
She stared at the communications console, her grin dissolving. "Now, I know you don't like the idea of using the sarcophagus - we don't either - but Selmac agrees with me on this."  
  
Sam shook her head in shocked disbelief. "Oh, ho, no! Not you, too!" She stalked southward, sickened that her father, of all people could even suggest such a thing.  
  
The tingling sensation in her body increased. "This one is wise," Ptah said. "And Selmac agrees with him. You should lis --"  
  
"Shut up, Ptah," Sam interrupted fiercely. Surprisingly, the Goa'uld quieted. She clasped her arms tightly to her chest. "And stop that damned shivering."  
  
"No one's going to order you to use the sarcophagus, Sam," her father went on gently, noting her response. "We don't know what the whole situation is with Ptah and this Machello stuff. You do. We're just asking that you keep your options open, okay? If you decide to go into stasis, we have the means to deal with the repercussions when we get to you.... Agreed?"  
  
Sam stayed where she was, showing her complete disagreement by remaining south of the radio. Her lips were set in a tight frown. They trembled, and she tried to relax the muscles that clenched painfully in her face. The Goa'uld within her squirmed uneasily as both of them fought to prevent the cycle of agony that came with reacting to the other's pain.  
  
Repercussions! Her father may as well have suggested that she allow herself to be raped. So the Tok'Ra could extract a Goa'uld. Well, whoopee! What was he thinking, that removing a Goa'uld was like removing a wart? They could take out the parasite, but they could never take away its legacy.  
  
Since Jolinar's murder, Sam's dreams had seldom been hers alone, but contained snatches of another's nightmares. Since their mission to Sokar's world, they had gotten much worse; they were often of Jolinar's own sojourn on Netu, of the degrading abuse at the hands of Binar, worse even than Sokar's tortures. Sam had worn the memory device for several hours during the mission to rescue her father from Netu. During that time she was constantly channeling Jolinar's thoughts, Jolinar's memories. Ever since, the Tok'Ra's most deeply buried memories sprang easily to her mind, leaving Sam open to aggression from within. Jolinar may have been a Tok'Ra, but never during their short time together had she treated Sam as an equal partner. The fugitive had wrested all control from Sam, even forcing her to threaten Cassandra and her teammates. Although in principle Sam had been able to understand Jolinar's situation and even forgive her for her actions, that didn't make the Tok'Ra's legacy any easier to bear. Ptah was messing her up enough as it was, she was not going to let him move into her mind. It was already crowded enough in there.  
  
  
  
"Carter?"  
  
"Colonel!" Sam gasped and stared at the radio. Relief washed over her in waves that momentarily stilled even Ptah's quivering. Though Selmac had let on that SG-1 had gotten home safely, actually hearing the Colonel's voice made the image more real for her. Her mind's eye saw all three of them, the Colonel, Daniel, Teal'c, safe, in the control room of the SGC. She smiled, knowing exactly what he was going to say.  
  
"Look, Carter, this is your call. You do what you have to do. But whatever happens, you are going to make it. That's an order, Major."  
  
"We are not leaving you there." Sam whispered the words reverently, in synch with his.  
  
The Colonel's voice was forceful, infusing Sam with strength. She nodded. Tears sprang suddenly to her eyes and, unashamed in her solitude, she let them fall. She made her way north, past the radio console, letting him know that she had understood, that she believed him. The Colonel wasn't going to let her die. All she had to do was to hang on for another week, maybe ten days. She could do that. Everything was going to be alright. The Colonel had said so. The Colonel never left anyone behind.  
  
  
  
It was a phenomenon that Sam would never be able to explain scientifically - Daniel had once joked that the cosmos must have granted Jack power of veto when it came to survival. Whenever life ganged-up against any member of his team, Colonel Jack O'Neill had only to tell it to cease and desist. Life might balk at his orders, banging him or his people around for a time, but ultimately, even it relented. At the moment, Sam didn't question why. Whatever the reason, she knew her chances of survival had just improved dramatically.  
  
  
  
"Major Carter," Selmac spoke now. "Is it possible to communicate with the Goa'uld?..... Ptah, hear me," the Tok'Ra's voice rumbled with authority in response to Sam's answer. "I am Selmac of the house of Thoth. You have committed a grave error by taking this woman as a host. However, given your circumstances and the affection that the Great Judge, Thoth has for you, we offer you the opportunity to defend your actions. We will find you a suitable host, so that you may present your case to my lord, Thoth, Judge of the Celestial Lights, but only if you agree to our terms. You must not attempt to harm the woman, nor must you exert any power over her. Should she decide to use the sarcophagus, you must sleep within her until my arrival. We have the means to subdue and remove you from the host, and if we find evidence that she has been damaged, you will most certainly die. You would be wise to accept these terms. Do not presume that your prior association with the house of my lord will protect you from his wrath."  
  
All throughout Selmac's speech, Sam's face remained neutral, not wanting to betray the Tok'Ra's subterfuge. Selmac, she knew, was no more a member of the house of Thoth than she was.  
  
~~~  
  
Ptah's feelings were mixed as he digested Selmac's words. Amon-Ptah was no more, if even Thoth's representative refused to use that title with him. Ptah now understood that he would have little-to-no influence on his own return to Goa'uld society. On the other hand, he felt heartened that Selmac was of Thoth's house. He and Thoth had always been of a like mind, and apparently, Thoth still held him in esteem. At any rate, he had no other choice.  
  
"Tell Selmac that I agree to the terms," Ptah drummed into Samantha's ear.  
  
"It doesn't matter," the woman hissed as she carried him in the direction of "yes." We are not using the sarcophagus."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I don't trust you."  
  
"Nor I, you," he retorted. "I have not once lied to you, yet you have practiced nothing but deception since your arrival."  
  
The woman opened her mouth, no doubt to inflict another crude insult upon him, when the voice of Hammond of Texas cut her off. "Major, the Gate is about to close, terminating our link to you. In the event you decide to not use the sarcophagus, we will re-establish contact with you every twelve hours. We know this must be very difficult for you, Major, but hang on. Everybody's working on a way to bring you home as quickly as possible. General Hammond, out."  
  
Samantha Carter returned to the console and sank wearily onto the seat. "Yes, Sir," she answered the now-quiet radio. Ptah shared her despondency at being cut off. Loneliness was a condition he could easily relate to.  
  
The strange communication had left Ptah with a great many questions. Who, or what, was Machello? Why did Samantha Carter so hate the Goa'uld, yet display such deep affection for Selmac? In his absence, who had usurped Ptah's title of Amon, King of the gods?  
  
He who had encouraged Samantha Carter to use the sarcophagus must be the one that Selmac had spoken of the first time - Jacob - the one who loved Samantha. His voice was that of an older man. Her father, perhaps? Ptah recognized in the timbre of the human's voice that he was host to Selmac. And Selmac, the Goa'uld, had agreed with the human. Since when had Goa'uld conferred with their hosts?  
  
Ptah was astounded. Obviously ten thousand years had brought significant change to the symbiote/host relationship. What influence did this female hold, that neither Selmac nor Hammond of Texas would order her to carry out that which they clearly wished her to do? And finally, who was the one she called "Colonel," who had such an effect on her emotions, and whose orders she was obviously willing to obey? Ptah would have to adapt quickly if he wanted to have any influence in Samantha Carter's world. But first, he had to get her to use the sarcophagus. At least now Ptah had the support of persons she trusted and loved. If only her precious Colonel had ordered her to use the sarcophagus, he wished bitterly. She no doubt would have obeyed.  
  
As if Ptah's physical condition hadn't already convinced him, the strange radio communication had confirmed it; taking Samantha Carter as a host had been a serious miscalculation on his part. Why she had acted since the beginning with such duplicity remained a mystery to him. Surely Thoth, in his fairness, would decide that she, not he, was responsible for their situation. If not, it would be prudent to convince his host that his friendship could be of value to her.  
  
"Samantha Carter," he began, tentatively. "You have had dealings with Goa'uld that I have also opposed. I assure you, Ptah is not like these ones," he said, deciding it would be wise to drop his title, Amon.  
  
"Seth was always practicing deception. You must be aware that many times, in council at Heliopolis I stood in judgment with Thoth against this bringer of chaos." The woman remained silent. "Sokar was sent from our midst because of his cruelty. It was I who banished him."  
  
"You should have killed them both when you had the chance," she said, unimpressed.  
  
"Perhaps," he agreed. "I am curious. Was it by the decree of Thoth that these Goa'uld were later executed?"  
  
The woman hesitated before answering. "I'm not that up-to-date on Goa'uld politics. Let's just say that everybody connected with Selmac approved of their deaths."  
  
Ptah had to fight to gain the mastery over his irritation. This woman was exhausting, answering even his simplest questions with evasion. He wondered why he even bothered to ask her anything. Had all hosts become this uncooperative?  
  
"I have not, and I will not lie to you, Major Samantha Carter of Earth," he tried to reassure her. "By the Great Judge, Thoth, I do swear to abide by Selmac's terms. Should using the sarcophagus allow me to have intercourse with you, I will abstain."  
  
The woman exploded with outrage. "Oh, geez! You're dammed right you won't be having intercourse with me!" she spat the words out in disgust.  
  
Ptah winced, momentarily confused at the vehemence of her tone. Then it dawned on him. If he had control of her body he would have rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I was referring to mental intercourse."  
  
"...I...I knew that." The woman leaned wearily onto the console, her emotional outburst draining her of the last of her endurance. She lowered her head onto her crossed arms and closed her eyes, plunging Ptah back into darkness. "Either way it's unacceptable," she answered. "Rape is rape, and I won't let you violate me any more than you already have."  
  
  
  
Ptah remained awake long after the woman had fallen asleep, considering her words.  
  
Infestation, violation, rape. The accusation inferred by those words was demeaning to him - to his species. A horrifying thought gripped him. Perhaps he was wrong to conclude that humans had attained equality with the Goa'uld. In Samantha Carter's world, who really was the master, and who was the slave?  
  
***  
  
  
  
Aldwin re-read his instructions, his brow furrowed as he double-checked the data against the coordinates he had been given. His destination was a planet deep inside uncharted territory. It would take some time to reach it in his battered old Tel'tac.  
  
He had managed quite a feat during his last mission, weakening Heru'Ur's influence by sabotaging a proposed alliance with Kshatriya, Nirtti's most trusted General. The mission had been both arduous - Heru'Ur drove his people extremely hard - and dangerous - neither Goa'uld was easily beguiled.  
  
Aldwin had been looking forward to some well-earned rest, but it was not to be. Nevertheless, he allowed himself a satisfied smile. Not only had his mission been a complete success and he had gotten away without detection, but he had with him three of Heru'Ur's encased-encased bombs in the Tel'tac's cargo hold. Aldwin considered that he had managed quite well indeed.  
  
Now, all he had to do was find that planet and use his newly acquired firepower to blow it up. He grimaced in distaste. This was starting to become a habit. He input the coordinates into the ship's navigator and prepared for the long ride through hyperspace.  
  
________________  
  
  
  
From the Pel'tac of his cloaked personal yacht, Kshatriya, Nirtti's top General and interim ruler in his goddess's absence, followed with interest the activities of the ha-ta-ka.  
  
At great cost, Kshatriya had obtained the transmission codes for Heru'Ur's ship radio in the hopes of gaining information that would give him some small advantage over the stronger Horus-god. What he got, instead, was proof that his treaty with Heru'Ur had been sabotaged by the Tok'Ra. Kshatriya smiled grimly. It was for the best. Heru'Ur was an idiot; the Tok'Ra had spent all this time in his presence and had even stolen from his armory. Kshatriya had no desire to ally himself with so careless a System Lord. Not when he could have Amon-Ptah as his benefactor.  
  
So! The Tau'ri had stumbled upon the Great Maker, and the spy was under orders to murder Amon-Ptah. Kshatriya's servants had been able to crack most of the coded message, but the coordinates for his destination must have been Tau'ri code, for it remained stubbornly indecipherable.  
  
Kshatriya decided to follow the spy himself, leaving his warships to guard his domain from opportunistic System Lords and up-and-coming Goa'uld. With a full battlement and four wings of udajeets, his personal yacht was more than a match for the Tok'Ra's pathetic Tel'tac.  
  
Once Amon-Ptah was located, Kshatriya would deal with the ha-ta-ka for his part in ruining the treaty negotiations with the house of Horus. Then he would present himself before Amon-Ptah, and forge with the Creator-god the most powerful alliance in the history of the Goa'uld.  
  
For his cunning, Amon-Ptah would certainly grant Kshatriya the boon of Devataa: God ship and great power. Kshatriya would become a System Lord: a true force to be reckoned with. Heru'Ur would pay for his treachery. And then, Earth would be made to pay for theirs.  
  
Kshatriya was still stinging from the loss of his goddess. He held with difficulty most of the worlds still under Nirtti's dominion, but, with her arrest, her power and influence had faded among the System Lords, and all because of those meddlesome Tau'ri. They should have left their Chaapa'ai buried. Now the responsibility fell to him to avenge Nirrti and to take back the glory that rightly belonged to her. With Ptah at his side, even the Asgard would think twice about interfering. With Ptah at his side, he would free his goddess, and Nirrti would become his queen.  
  
__________________  
  
  
  
Sam floated on a bed of light, weightless, unhindered by the constraints of a deteriorating body. She felt no pain, no hunger, no restriction of movement. She was free. She had power. She could do anything.  
  
Then the sarcophagus opened, and she felt the weight of her body again. The muscles in Sam's legs bunched together tightly, contracting like tension-springs as she prepared to rise. The energy built up as the pressure on her muscles increased, way out of proportion to the task of standing. Sam moaned. Her whole body shuddered and she gasped as muscles in her legs spasmed painfully.  
  
"Samantha! Stop! Please!"  
  
Wide awake, now, Sam wanted nothing more than to obey Ptah's plea, to quell her panic and concentrate on relaxing her severely cramping muscles. Desperately, she tried to massage some life back into her legs. The fierce pounding in her skull threatened to crack it open. Finally, the muscles loosened up enough to allow feeling to return. She set her teeth against the intense prickling sensation as blood seeped back into veins and arteries squeezed-off by the cramp. She lay there long after the pain had subsided, too spent even to sit up.  
  
"That was a bad one," Ptah said. "And they will worsen."  
  
"....I know."  
  
  
  
Sam was on the floor, having slipped from her seat at the radio console. The sarcophagus had been nothing more than a mocking dream.  
  
"The sarcophagus.... Please." Ptah's exhaustion was evident despite its monotone, the Goa'uld now so weak from withdrawal that even his constant shivering had stopped.  
  
"No," Sam answered automatically, but the defiance was gone from her tone. Her heart wasn't in it anymore.  
  
The SGC had called twice since their first "conversation," but the last time Sam had been too weak to answer more than a couple of questions. Janet had sounded worried, and had tried again to convince her to use the sarcophagus.  
  
Were they right, she wondered? Was she just being unreasonable, cutting off her own nose to spite her face, as it were? After all, there was no guarantee that using the sarcophagus would destroy Machello's toxin, whereas the chances of her surviving another week without the healing bed were nil. Ptah had promised to be good, and she had to admit, she hadn't caught him in any lies that she knew of. Sam was a soldier, used to taking risks. Wasn't there anything in life that she still wanted, she wondered? Wanted strongly enough that she'd be willing to take this risk?  
  
In Antarctica, where she and the badly injured Colonel had spent a week inside an ice-glacier, Sam had, for the first time, truly considered the prospect of dying. She had meant it when she told the Colonel that she would die with no regrets.  
  
But during her years on SG-1, she had learned not to accept death so casually. The Colonel hadn't given up in Antarctica, and that situation had certainly held no apparent options to death. What would he do in her place? The certainty of death or the possibility of life: she already knew what the Colonel's choice would be.  
  
Sam's mind filled with the memory of her experience in the sarcophagus and this time she did not fight it. The enticement offered by the device - to spend the rest of her imprisonment in blissful oblivion - was becoming more and more attractive to her. The reasons to not use it were becoming less compelling. Why wasn't she using it again, she wondered? Oh yeah, repercussions.  
  
Okay, so there'd be repercussions - there always were - but had her life become that terrible since Jolinar had infested her? Her dad was alive - not only alive, but a big part of her life again. And thanks to Selmac, she, her father and her brother Mark were a family again. And, despite some one-sidedness on their part, the Tok'Ra had become an invaluable ally in Earth's fight against the Goa'uld.  
  
Was she just being selfish? Assuming Ptah did take control of her temporarily, mightn't the incredible knowledge she'd gain from his memories eventually outweigh the harm, maybe even providing clues on how to beat the Goa'uld, once and for all?  
  
Or was all this just rationalizing on her part, because she was tired of the pain and the loneliness? She shook her head wearily, not knowing what to think anymore.  
  
Water, that was what she needed. She'd have a drink, clear her mind so she could think straight, then she'd decide. She got to her feet and stiffly made her way to the transport rings. There was a fountain on this level, but, she reasoned, what would be the harm of using the one in Ptah's private quarters, where the sarcophagus was?  
  
__________________  
  
  
  
There is a ceiling to evolution, a limit to growth. Just as matter gains mass as it accelerates toward light-speed, thus slowing it down and preventing it from ever piercing that speed barrier, so it is with species growth. Evolution upwards allows advancement at a price, ultimately limiting advancement and disallowing any one organism from gaining total supremacy over all others.  
  
The Ancients, as physical entities, had been declining even before they started to explore the Milky Way galaxy. Gradually, over several millennia, the Ancient's Stargate system grew to encompass nearly the entire galaxy. Their mental capacities and abilities kept pace with their explorations, however, their physical selves continued to deteriorate.  
  
No matter; they had technology. With their technology, the Ancients could be faster, defying the plodding speed-of-light limit, sending their mass through naquadah rings and spanning forty thousand light- years in an instant.  
  
With their technology, the Ancients could be stronger, lifting into orbit enormous vessels - their weight far in excess of the great pyramids of Egypt. Their technology more than made up for their lack of stamina, and advanced medicines took care of their growing fragility, so efficiently in fact, that they were barely even aware that, as a species, they had become unwell.  
  
Especially after the Ancients invented the sarcophagus. The sarcophagus became the ultimate factor in the individual's survival. And, the ultimate factor in the species' demise.  
  
A wonder of modern Ancient medicine, the sarcophagus repaired almost any injury in any carbon-based creature - provided the occupant supplied the raw materials for those repairs. The sarcophagus did not create new raw materials, it only rearranged and re-organized available materials, but doing so in a most efficient manner. Thus, it could not re-grow a missing limb, but it could completely heal even a severely mangled one. It could not return the long-dead to life, but if even a small number of living cells were still present in a body, the sarcophagus could tap into them and build an energy template, restoring life to the entire organism. The life-forms presently occupying the sarcophagus appeared intact, but in reality they were woefully lacking in several essential raw materials.  
  
The sarcophagus had another limitation; the bio-bed had been designed to serve the needs of only one occupant per session. Normally, it registered a Goa'uld properly blended with its host as a single entity. But, this Goa'uld had not blended with its host, so, on this day, the sensors clearly identified two distinct sets of highly-ordered brain- wave patterns, two complex nervous systems, two metabolisms - two entirely different species of intelligent beings inhabiting one body. The sarcophagus was perfectly capable of repairing both, but it was incapable of triage: of choosing to heal one life-form at the expense of the other. Wondrous as the bio-bed was, it was simply a machine, and, as such, it reacted to the misinformation as any machine would: It stalled.  
  
__________________  
  
  
  
Sergeant Everett Siler stood in the doorway of General Hammond's office, awaiting permission to enter.  
  
"Tell me you've got good news, Sergeant."  
  
Everett stepped into the room and handed the General a folder. "I have a way to get the Gate out of the hole on P4N-285, Sir."  
  
The General's face brightened as he reached for the folder. "Now that is good news!" But as he studied the contents of the folder, his initial enthusiasm waned. He eyed his Technical Sergeant skeptically. "There's a good reason why the military mothballed this technology, son. What you're suggesting is very dangerous."  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
General Hammond sighed, but nodded in reluctant agreement. "At least it's something." He reached for the phone. "Have Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c report to my office," he commanded the person on the other end of the line.  
  
Everett knew that Colonel O'Neill would accept his plan, no matter how dangerous. He also knew that Teal'c would want to be the one to do this, no doubt seeing this as a step towards absolving his guilt.  
  
It was crazy, yet everyone involved had found a way to blame themselves for Major Carter's death: Doctor Ryder and Lieutenant Harris, for not understanding the dangers more clearly, the Colonel and Teal'c, for not getting her out of the sinkhole, himself, for giving up hope so easily, and Doctor Jackson...well, maybe he wasn't suffering from guilt.  
  
This wasn't the first time Everett had written the Major off, only to have Doctor Jackson find a way to bring her home again. And so, more than any other reason, guilt compelled Everett to find a way to bring her safely home now. He found himself working with the same fervor as the Major had when she was trying to bring the Colonel back from Edora.  
  
He shook his head, remembering how demanding the Major had been, both of herself and of any who had the misfortune of working on the particle accelerator project. Their friendship had been stressed to its limits during those three months. The Major had acted then as though she had somehow been to blame for her commanding officer's predicament. Now, Everett understood exactly how she had felt.  
  
A rap at the door signaling SG-1's arrival pulled Everett from his thoughts. He saw the gleam of hope in the men's eyes.  
  
"General," Colonel O'Neill addressed his superior respectfully. Then he turned to Everett. "What have you got?"  
  
Everett gave them a small smile. "A way to get a man on P4N-285, Sir, but it's extremely risky."  
  
General Hammond pushed the folder across the desk with one finger. The Colonel picked it up and studied the information, his face a mask. He handed the folder to Teal'c, locking his gaze on the General. "We'll take it."  
  
___________________  
  
  
  
The first thing Sam felt was, better. The pain and the weakness were much more bearable now, though not entirely gone.  
  
She frowned. That didn't make any sense. Shouldn't she be feeling great, like she had the first time she had used the sarcophagus? And she had been dead that time.  
  
The next thing Sam felt was, in control. She was still herself. Machello's defenses had held up. Whatever immunity the old man's Goa'uld- killing devices had left in her had survived stasis.  
  
Ptah was quiet. Perhaps, she thought, he was still asleep. The lid to the sarcophagus slid to a stop, wide-open above her.  
  
Sam listened, hoping to pick out of the silence anything that might reveal who had awakened her from stasis. The only sound was of the rapid pounding of her pulse against her eardrum. Her left hand closed around the ribbon device, against the possibility of unfriendly intruders. Immediately, the crystal in her palm activated, drawing power from her intention. She raised her gloved hand to her face and stared in morbid awe at the glow emanating from her palm.  
  
Cautiously, Sam peered over the lid of the sarcophagus. She saw no one. She raised herself to a standing crouch inside the healing bed, ribboned hand raised in readiness, but there was no one to challenge her in the room. The lid of the sarcophagus made a soft grinding sound as it re- closed. Quickly Sam cleared the device, swallowing convulsively as she watched the healing chamber disappear under its cover-plate.  
  
"Ptah," she whispered. "Why are we out of stasis?"  
  
"The transport rings are set to awaken its occupant," he replied. "Our rescuers must have disembarked on a lower level."  
  
"Why would they do that?" Sam kept her voice low.  
  
"They are your people, Samantha, you tell me."  
  
Not necessarily, Sam thought worriedly to herself. What if someone had intercepted her radio communications? What if a Goa'uld had seen the infrared message with Ptah's symbol glowing like a neon sign? Had her actions brought the Goa'uld down on this planet in droves? She approached the console and held her gloved hand over a seamed section of the console's surface. Immediately the seam parted and a globe rose up from within the console. She brushed the globe lightly, projecting her will onto the globe's controls.  
  
Selmac had once told her that she had the will within her to make the glove work. Now, with Ptah's coaching, her ability was improving.  
  
Sam watched as the globe showed the different levels of the ship. She adjusted the view simply by concentrating on where she wanted to look. She had discovered that the less she thought about the actual control process, the more smoothly the glove worked. But any elation she might have felt at her prowess with the alien technology was dampened by anxiety. "Where are they?"  
  
~~~  
  
Ptah remained silent as the human searched the ship, but he understood long before she did that no one had come aboard the vessel. What was more, he hurt. Not quite as much as when Samantha Carter had finally surrendered to the sarcophagus, but it was pain, nonetheless. In all his existence he had never left the sarcophagus still in pain. It must have opened pre-maturely. The foolish woman must have failed to set the bed's controls properly. Surely, they had not been in the sarcophagus for more than a few moments, and what little strength he had regained would be short-lived. He was also no more in control than he had been before.  
  
"Samantha Carter, we should examine the sarcophagus."  
  
"What? No! We have to find the people who woke us up."  
  
"There is no one," Ptah said bluntly. "The sarcophagus woke us. In your frantic condition you set it improperly. Now that you are calm, I will show you the proper setting. We will put ourselves into stasis until your people arrive, as agreed."  
  
"I think I'll stay up for awhile," the stubborn creature answered, but much to his relief she retraced her steps to the sarcophagus. Panic seized him as Ptah looked over the controls. No! he thought. This cannot be!  
  
"Well?" the woman asked, oblivious to Ptah's consternation.  
  
Had the foolish woman, in a fit of pique, sabotaged their only means of survival?  
  
"Show me how I'm supposed to work this thing," she said, irritated at his hesitation.  
  
"You tampered with it," he accused. "While I was cut off from sight and sound, you --"  
  
"What? I... No, I didn't!" she exclaimed indignantly. "If I had, do you really think I'd have gotten into it?"  
  
She had a point, he conceded reluctantly. "Refrain from closing your eye," he commanded aloud. "And be silent."  
  
The woman fixed an angry glare on the bio-bed. Ptah didn't really need to study the device. The sarcophagus had been properly set. Still, something had interrupted both the healing process and stasis. But, if the woman hadn't meddled with it, then, what? And why?  
  
"Well?" Samantha Carter asked again impatiently.  
  
"The controls are properly set," Ptah finally admitted. The woman huffed as if to say she'd known that all along. "We will have to run a diagnostic on the sarcophagus," he said.  
  
Samantha Carter sighed. "Well, it has been ten thousand years. I suppose it's probably overdue for a tune-up."  
  
~~~  
  
Several hours later, after having double-checked every working part of the sarcophagus, Sam backed away and sighed in disgust. Her head hurt, and Ptah had taken to shivering again. "Okay, now what?" she asked testily. Ptah didn't answer. Probably just as well, she thought. With the mood she was in, she'd bite his sanctimonious head off, if it wasn't stuck inside of hers.  
  
"Alright, then, we'll go to the Pel'tac level," she said. "Maybe Hammond'll get a clue and contact us, tell us how long we were in the sarc. Hopefully by now they'll have gotten their act together and they're coming for us."  
  
________________________  
  
  
  
"Hell - oh!" Sam punched the radio in frustration. Where were they, anyway? "Come on, can't you see that I'm up? Aren't you at least curious to know why?"  
  
Sam drummed on the console with her fingers, irritated and anxious. She just couldn't get a break. The sarcophagus obviously wasn't working properly. Sam had only used it a couple of times, and already she was a mess. Daniel had used the sarcophagus to save his life, plenty of times, yet she didn't remember him getting cranky. She smirked. Except when his girlfriend, Shyla, had made him take regular naps in it.  
  
"To hell with you," she yelled at the silent radio. She stood up, her voice dropping to a sullen grumble. "If you think I'm gonna sit around all day waiting for you to call...." She pulled away from the console and stopped in the middle of the room, undecided what to do next. The truth was, waiting was all she could do. She and Ptah had explored every option from their end. They were well and truly stuck here. She returned to the console. Well, there was one thing she should be able to get out of Ptah, now.  
  
"You got what you wanted from me, Ptah," she said. "We used the sarcophagus. Now it's your turn. Tell me how to set the clock on this thing."  
  
***  
  
  
  
"General Hammond, greetings," Garshaw said. "Is your Stargate now operating properly? I was hoping to come and speak with you personally."  
  
"I'm sorry, Garshaw," George spoke into the radio. "We've been taxing our equipment so much lately that it has become untrustworthy. I'm afraid I can't allow you to endanger yourself. The Tok'Ra are a far too valuable ally for us to lose you to equipment failure."  
  
An audible sigh came over the comm. system. "General Hammond --" the Tok'Ra began sharply.  
  
George cut her off. "Have the Tok'Ra succeeded in calling back their operative?"  
  
A long silence greeted that query. Finally, Garshaw spoke again. "I regret that we have not. The operative had already left when we learned the news of Ptah's incapacity. We have no way of contacting him now."  
  
George felt the blood run cold inside him. "I see."  
  
It had been four days since they had called the Tok'Ra and informed them of Major Carter's "communication." The Tok'Ra had been incredulous at first, but finally they had agreed to try to stop the operative from carrying out the mission to destroy Ptah's ship and its occupants.  
  
"We are truly sorry, General Hammond. The Tok'Ra held Major Carter in high esteem, and it was a difficult decision to have to make."  
  
George scowled deeply. Garshaw was already counting the Major among the dead. George was no stranger to hard choices. He'd had to make plenty for the people serving under him. But he had always tried to make damned certain that their sacrifice was absolutely necessary.  
  
"I'm sure it was a very difficult decision to make," he said coolly. "It's a pity you didn't take a moment to consult you allies on this one. Thank you, Garshaw. SGC out." He made a curt gesture with his head and Davis cut the radio transmission.  
  
In the Gate room, the singularity rippled silently within its naquadah mooring, as trouble-free as it always had been. Shortly the wormhole collapsed. "Dial P4N-285, Sergeant," he commanded. If the Tok'Ra insisted on calling again, George wanted them to get the busy signal.  
  
  
  
Moments after George had taken refuge in his office there was a knock on his door. Sergeant Davis entered the room. "Sir, there is no signal from the ship-site," the Tech Sergeant said softly. "UAV shows that the tethered balloon has gone to ground. As long as it's down we won't be able to gather data from inside the ship."  
  
George closed his eyes and groaned inwardly. The tethered balloon had been steadily losing altitude since the day they had first re- established communication with it. What else would go wrong before things went right, he wondered. "Radio signal?" Davis shook his head. "I see," George said quietly.  
  
Davis hesitated at the door. "Should I shut down the Gate, Sir?"  
  
George nodded. At least Major Carter had gone into stasis. It had been bad enough that they had been cut off when the Goa'uld had attacked her. It would be even harder on her if her only link with the outside world were suddenly, inexplicably cut.  
  
"Tell SG-4 to gear up. They can resume opening the Gate to P4N-285 from off-world." George picked up the phone. "Get me Peterson Air Force base," he commanded. Teal'c and O'Neill were there, trying to master Sergeant Siler's plan to get onto P4N-285. Ready or not, they had to get onto that planet. Major Carter had just run out of time.  
  
___________________  
  
  
  
Samantha Carter slouched on Amon-Ptah's throne. Through her right eye, the imprisoned Goa'uld contemplated the unchanging scenes painted on the walls before him.  
  
Heru'Ur, Nirrti, Apophis, Cronus. Why couldn't one of them have come for the Great Maker? Why did it have to be Samantha Carter of the Tau'ri?  
  
He may have been inside her body, but it was not Amon-Ptah sitting on his throne. The host was in control, and now Samantha Carter sat, the Queen of solitude. He wished he had access to a mouth. How this turn of events made him want to laugh. Finally, irony he could truly appreciate.  
  
"So, Great Maker, huh?"  
  
"That is what I am."  
  
"Really?" she asked. "Are you sure you don't mean Great Mistake Maker?" She sniggered at her own joke. Ptah made no reaction. Though there was no excusing her rude behavior, he well knew that he had called himself far worse things since his interment.  
  
Another long silence, punctuated by the occasional blink as the woman continued to stare silently at the fresco. "So...what does that mean, exactly?"  
  
"It means that before me there was no god --"  
  
"What?! That has got to be the most arrogant..." the woman sputtered indignantly. "Before you there was no god."  
  
"It is I who gave the Goa'uld the power to become gods."  
  
"That's not the same thing."  
  
  
  
Several more minutes went by in silence. Ptah was familiar with this, having spent much of his incarceration staring at the same scene - his only link with his kind.  
  
His physical situation was serious and his future, uncertain, but even this was an improvement over the endless days of changelessness that had been his lot before. At least now he had someone to talk to, someone with fresh news about the state of his brothers, who asked questions and whom he could instruct. Someone, unfortunately, who was stubborn, evasive, had no respect for authority, who wished him dead, and who held enough influence with the ruling powers to have her wish.  
  
Still, Ptah had hope. Selmac, of the house of Thoth sounded like a reasonable Goa'uld.  
  
  
  
"So, what did you have to do to get so smart and powerful, infest one of the Ancients?"  
  
"I did not infest anyone." The woman huffed in disbelief. "I speak the truth. It took me. It forced me to merge with it."  
  
The wall flickered as she blinked furiously. It made him feel ill. "What?"  
  
"You are correct; the Goa'uld were primitive creatures when the Ancients came to our world. The Ancients were weak in body. They wished to exploit our curative abilities."  
  
The woman stopped her infernal blinking, opening her eyes wide as she digested this information. "You mean, they purposely let you infest them?"  
  
There was that word again. Surely the impudent creature used it only to bait him. Ptah decided to ignore it. He continued. "But this was a new kind of body to me, and in trying to subdue it in the habitual way of my kind, I touched its mind."  
  
The human shook her head, adding to Ptah's malaise. "In the habitual way.... What does that mean?"  
  
"Primitive Goa'uld do not make full use of a host, blending only to mature and to mate. The Unas mind was simple and unadorned."  
  
"Nothing like the Ancient's minds."  
  
"It was incredible," he agreed, still enthralled by the memory. "Beyond anything I had ever known in the dream-time."  
  
"Dream-time? You mean in your genetic memory?"  
  
"Yes." Ptah abandoned all pretense with Samantha Carter, as he finally had with his First Prime, Sen'k. "Before me, my kind had only known the Unas," he explained. "They were beasts, as were we. I was too young to take a host. The Ancient who took me was like a god to me. I feared its new physiology, so I hid within it, and tasted, and learned, until I understood that it was not strong. The Unas were strong, but their minds were weak. It was then that I realized that the Ancients were not gods. A god must be strong, both in body and in mind. It was then that I realized that I was more god-like than the one I feared. It was I who gave life and strength to the Ancient One's body. I learned to control both its mind and its flesh.  
  
"I embraced my destiny, and used my new knowledge and power to free my brothers from their primitive state. Later, when we discovered humans, I set myself the task of elevating you as well."  
  
"You were dying," she countered. "You couldn't maintain your hosts so you jumped into us to save yourselves."  
  
"True," he admitted. "The Ancient Ones' bodies were in constant need of repair, and they quickly outlived their usefulness to us. But we made you what you are. Humans were barely at the level of cognition when the Goa'uld found you."  
  
"I know my ancient Earth history, Ptah. Humans were way more than just cognizant when you infested Earth. We had language, art, religion, culture." Fingers rose into Ptah's view as the human counted off the meager accomplishments of her predecessors.  
  
"You communicated in grunts and gestures, your art was barely discernible as such and you huddled around fire and thought it was your god," he scoffed.  
  
"And secondly," she said as if he hadn't spoken. "We would have advanced on our own, and probably a lot sooner too, if not for your interference."  
  
"Simple child," Ptah retorted. "Think. It is need that creates change. Change only occurs when there is what you call interference. What sort of stimulation would your ancestors have had without us? What kinds of challenges would they have encountered? No, Samantha Carter, without the Goa'uld, humans would still be little more than clever cattle."  
  
"Isn't that what you think of us now?" the woman said bitterly. "As cattle, to be domesticated and used as you see fit?"  
  
"Is that not how the Tau'ri view cattle?"  
  
"We. Are. Not. Cattle!"  
  
Ptah winced at the woman's outburst, and with an effort he controlled his urge to shudder. He concentrated, instead, on tapping his thoughts into her ear. "Perhaps that is now the case," he conceded. "Perhaps your species has attained the age where you wish to be treated as equals with the Goa'uld. But can you truly comprehend the responsibility that comes with our power? Your species is still very young."  
  
"Oh! Geez!" The woman shot from her seat and paced excitedly between the wall and the dais. "We're the young ones?" she exploded "We're the irresponsible ones? You're the ones who jumped from primitive creature to...to... "god of the galaxy" in one easy blending!" She stopped before the painted fresco. "And if you want to talk about abuse of power, let me tell you something about your precious fellow gods." She motioned towards the image before her. "They're monsters, all of them. They're cruel, they fight amongst themselves constantly, everything they have they stole from somebody else, and whatever they can't steal, they destroy. They've wiped out entire species on a whim. There's not a responsible one in the lot. Trust me, Ptah, there are no, good, Goa'ulds. There's no "idyllic paradise with all things living in harmony" where the Goa'uld are in charge. Anywhere!"  
  
Samantha returned to the throne and threw herself down onto it in a slump. She closed her eyes, all her energy spent on her indignant outburst. Ptah, in total darkness, was silent. For the first time since they had met, he believed her. He could taste the truth in her vehemence.  
  
The woman was right; his species' advancement from simple to savant had been too abrupt. Ptah had been so confident that his kind would be able to handle the change wisely. Unfortunately, most of his brothers forsook Ptah's enlightened philosophy, emulating Ra's amoral and unquenchable thirst for power, and had embarked on a campaign of violent conquest. Unable to repress his brothers, Ptah had compromised. He had done what was necessary to assure his superiority over all of them, supplying them with the material means to accomplish their goals, thus making himself indispensable to them.  
  
After Sokar had challenged his position, his authority, Ptah recognized the danger he was in. The power-base on the council at Heliopolis was already being shaken. The policies of Osiris and Isis were making more enemies than friends for the council. Cronus was gaining considerable influence. He and Ra had been only marginally better than Sokar, but ruling against them would have been suicide, even for the King of the gods. Ptah knew it was time for a strategic retreat, to hide from his brothers while he built the means to defend himself from them.  
  
"You say there are no good Goa'uld," he said. "Yet you clearly have affection for Selmac. And, what of Thoth? Do you not consider these to be good Goa'uld?"  
  
The woman opened her eyes and shifted in her seat. Ptah's view changed from the painted wall to the high, golden ceiling as she sprawled across the throne's padded armrests. "A movement was started amongst your species, about two thousand years ago," she explained quietly. "They were opposed to the destructive ways of the Goa'uld and pledged to put a stop to it. They refuse to be called Goa'uld. They call themselves the Tok'Ra."  
  
"The Tok'Ra killed Ra?"  
  
"We didn't know of the Tok'Ra then. We - the humans - killed Ra, without any help from anybody."  
  
"But the Tok'Ra --?"  
  
"Oppose all those Goa'uld who share Ra's..." he felt her face contort into a frown. "Ideals, I guess. We did collaborate in destroying Seth, Hathor, Sokar,--"  
  
Ptah hummed excitedly. "Then, Samantha Carter of the Tau'ri, I, too, am Tok'Ra."  
  
She snorted and closed her eyes, curling her body into a tight ball. "Of course you are."  
  
  
  
___________________  
  
  
  
"The Tok'Ra is laying in coordinates now, my Lord."  
  
From the Pel'tac of his cloaked warship, Heru'Ur watched as the little Tel'tac open a breach in normal space. "Follow him," he commanded his helmsman.  
  
Heru'Ur hated subterfuge, all the little games the other System Lords played as they connived to steal from one another. Heru'Ur was a noble god, a god of action, a god of war. Might was established out in the open, in honorable battle on the fields of war, not in the inner chambers, with the lies and deceit of political diplomacy. The house of Horus had not risen to power by resorting to treachery and thievery. Those were the tools of the weak. Heru'Ur despised weakness.  
  
Since the Asgard attack on Cimmeria, Heru'Ur had battled mightily to regain his rightful position among the System Lords. Now, Apophis' unexpected victory over Sokar, and his enormous military strength was a threat to Heru'Ur's plans. He needed to strengthen his forces quickly. An alliance with Kshatriya would give Heru'Ur more leverage against his old enemy. But the Tok'Ra spy had foiled Heru'Ur's plan.  
  
It no longer mattered. Apophis was a long-time enemy of the house of Horus, and even with Kshatriya's forces, defeating the powerful Serpent- Devil would be too costly. He made a feral smile. Now, thanks to the indiscretions of the Tok'Ra, the fortunes of war were changing in Heru'Ur's favor.  
  
Did the Tok'Ra think him a fool? Did they think the he did not know his own warriors? Heru'Ur had quickly become aware of the spy's presence in his ranks. The ha-ta-ka was still alive only because Heru'Ur had learned of his new orders.  
  
Much as he would have preferred to crush the spy on the spot, Heru'Ur had quietly allowed him to complete his mission. In order to expedite his departure, he even "helped" the Tok'Ra to steal three missiles from his own arsenal.  
  
An alliance was no longer of any importance to the System Lord. Once he found Amon-Ptah, the worlds belonging to the Hindu goddess, Nirrti would become his. Kshatriya would become his vassal. Apophis' forces would be met and conquered in glorious battle. Heru'Ur would gain power and might, more, even, than his father, Ra. The Tau'ri would be subdued, and the Tok'Ra filth would be eradicated, once and for all.  
  
His chest swelled with pride. He had never doubted that he was destined to find the Hidden One. The house of Horus had always remained faithful to the Creator-god. As his father before him, Heru'Ur had used Amon- Ptah's gifts to wage holy war against all those who would usurp his title in his absence. He had kept his Ha'tak fleet pure of Sokar's contaminations. Now, the time had come for his house to retake its rightful glory. The Great-Maker, Amon-Ptah would grant him all his desires.  
  
  
  
Heru'Ur studied the Tel'tac's course on the sensors, his brow furrowed in a scowl. The Tok'Ra was heading deep into Asgard-held territory. Was this deception? Or had the Great Amon conquered that worthy foe? Fire rose in his eyes at the prospect of the Great Maker granting him rulership over the considerable might of the Asgard. With such a military force, and the blessing of the Great Maker, Heru'Ur would expand his conquest far beyond this galaxy.  
  
_______________  
  
  
  
Renec fidgeted in the cockpit of his cloaked scout ship, bored and impatient. The ugly rear end of the Tok'Ra cargo ship had been his only view for far too long. His sleek scout ship was many times faster and more maneuverable, but if Renec wanted to claim his prize, he had no choice but to follow. The Tel'tac was headed for uncharted territory. What's more, Renec's sensors were picking up malfunctions in the cargo ship's environmental systems. The Tok'Ra would no doubt have to leave hyperspace in order to make repairs.  
  
He frowned in disgust. The Tok'Ra were pathetic. Their equipment was hopelessly outdated. Their austere lifestyle was a joke. It was a wonder they had managed to survive this long. Clearly they suffered from some psychological defect. Putting them out of their misery would be a kindness. Renec had not believed for one moment the rumor that the Tok'Ra had destroyed Sokar, though he understood how weak-minded individuals could draw such conclusions about the destructive Tok'Ra. He'd heard what they had done to Hathor's small but growing army: When given the opportunity to upgrade their technology by taking control of her modern ship, the Tok'Ra had blown it up, instead. They were utter maniacs.  
  
Renec loved his new master. It was Lord Apophis, not the Tok'Ra who had freed him from his prison on Delmar. It was Lord Apophis who had destroyed the Devil-god, Sokar, along with his hellish moon. Renec appreciated the Serpent-Devil's cunning and intelligence, and wished to show his Lord the extent of his fealty. When he had gotten the assignment to spy on Heru'Ur, Renec had been honored at the level of trust his gracious, benevolent lord had shown in him.  
  
He should have returned to Delmar immediately with the news that Heru'Ur was building his forces for war. That was his assignment, and Lord Apophis did not suffer disobedience any better than Sokar had, but he would be a fool to pass up this opportunity. He smiled. Thanks to the Tok'Ra's meddling, Heru'Ur was no threat for the time being. All Renec had to do was to let the Tok'Ra lead him to Amon-Ptah, then he would report to his Lord. He would give Apophis much more than the war-god, Heru'Ur, much more than the diseased Tok'Ra. He would give his Lord the greatest of all gifts, the Great Maker himself.  
  
***  
  
  
  
Sam was on Chulak. The large and sumptuous banquet table was piled high with every imaginable delicacy, and in the middle of it all, an enormous roast pig. The aromas tantalized her and she reached out to indulge herself. But then the horn sounded and Apophis walked into the hall and she was forced to her knees, her head bowed to the floor. As long as the Goa'uld was in the room, Sam was not allowed to touch the food. But Apophis wouldn't leave. He just stood there, droning on about his new queen, letting all that good food get cold. Sam whimpered and her hand twitched with need. Maybe she could sneak a morsel without being noticed. She chanced a look up.  
  
Apophis was no where to be seen. His servants had vanished, and their feast along with them. Sam's eyes focused on a different table, opulently adorned with golden bowls of fruit and platters of steaming vegetables.  
  
Tuplo was smiling down at her. The Minoan ruler generously poured sweet wine into her cup. Sam returned the smile and eagerly extended a hand toward the luscious fruit. But the Colonel put a restraining hand on her arm and said they should leave now, since there was nothing of value to their mission here. She opened her mouth to protest, but Daniel beat her to it, talking about Minoan bulls.  
  
Yes! Bulls! They should stay. Stay and eat big, juicy, tender Minoan steak. But the Colonel would hear none of it and he dragged her, protesting, all the way back to the Gate. He pushed her through the wormhole. She came out of the wormhole, into the base cafeteria. The tables were generously laden with every dessert imaginable: cakes, cream puffs, lemon tarts, puddings, yogurt, Jell-O. Urgo greeted her with an affectionate smile. He spread his arms wide and burbled merrily: "Try the pie!"  
  
A commanding voice boomed over the base intercom. It spoke in Goa'uld: "SG-1, report to med. lab three."  
  
Sam dived toward the tables, but security guards got to her first. They pulled her out of the cafeteria.  
  
"SG-1, report to med. lab three."  
  
"No!" Sam cried in despair, reaching out toward the receding deserts. "Please, just a spoonful of Jell-O. Just one!"  
  
SG-1, report to med. lab three," the Goa'uld command sounded a third time.  
  
  
  
"Samantha Carter, you must awaken," Ptah commanded.  
  
Sam groaned and opened her eyes with an effort. The tables were gone, and the food was gone, but her hunger had been no dream. The voice continued to sound over the ship's intercom system. Sam didn't understand the words, but she had a feeling they weren't calling her to med. lab. Some kind of a warning, perhaps? Were they being boarded?  
  
She had hauled a few large pillows down to the Pel'tac and was camped out near the communications console, desperately hoping that the SGC would call. As far as she knew, the Gate was still in the hole, but she couldn't be sure. The radio had remained silent for days, and she had been forced to use the sarcophagus again. Again, it had stalled, and a third time. Each session in the bio-bed had been less effective than the last.  
  
The warning sounded again. Could she have slept through a call? "Ptah, what is that?"  
  
"There is sustenance."  
  
"Sustenance?" Sam whispered, confused.  
  
"Food. Something to eat."  
  
"Food." She mouthed the word as though unsure of its meaning. The voice sounded again - not a warning, she realized - it was an announcement. An announcement that there was food? Suddenly, she stiffened. "Food? Where?"  
  
"In my chambers."  
  
Sam rose to her knees, too dizzy to risk the higher altitude of standing, and crawled across the built-up floor of the Pel' tac, tumbling into the hole that housed the steeply canted transport rings. She hugged the guard rail for the short trip up to the throne level and Ptah's personal quarters. Climbing up out of the hole was difficult, but the promise of food drove Sam to her feet. By the time she had tottered across the large expanse between the rings and Ptah's inner chamber, she was ready to fall. She grasped the doorway, leaning on it for support as she peered into the large room. "Where?" she demanded desperately.  
  
"There."  
  
She crossed the room and stood before a low, flat, unadorned console. "Use the hand device to open it, there, down the front side," he instructed.  
  
Sam knelt in front of the console and held up her gloved hand. It hovered, shaking, over the seamed faceplate. Sam whimpered as nothing happened.  
  
"Calm yourself," Ptah soothed. "Think of a gleaming metal interior with crystals - orange and blue in color. Imagine a mass of hollow tubes that open above a bowl of crystal. The sustenance is in the bowl."  
  
"Hummph!" Sam whimpered, her lips pressed upon each other as she tried to conjure up the image, almost panicked by the thought that food was so close, just beyond her reach.  
  
"The paste is gray in color," Ptah explained, coaching her imagination. "The texture of the paste resembles moist clay."  
  
Moist clay, moist clay, she thought anxiously. Her whole body shook and she closed her eyes in concentration, trying to see in her mind's eye, the console opening at her command, revealing the dish and its contents.  
  
Sam heard a small hiss as the console yielded to her gloved hand. She opened her eyes to an amazing sight. Nested within the console, slightly steaming, was a crystal bowl filled nearly to the brim with a thick, gray paste. Food!  
  
Trembling fingers dipped into the bowl and she brought them to her mouth. The smooth, warm paste awakened a clamoring urgency within her as it slid down her throat. Quickly, she reached for more. Her head buzzed as Ptah drummed on her chochlea, speaking in a rapid monotone, as he did whenever he got excited. She paid him no heed. She was too busy feasting.  
  
It was so good! It was roast Chulakian pork and Minoan steak and sweet wine and pumpkin pie, all rolled into this wonderful, bland, gray paste the texture of moist clay.  
  
"Samantha Carter, stop!"  
  
Sam growled. Everyone was always trying to keep her from eating. Well, not this time! She reached into the console and grabbed the bowl. Sitting on the floor, she hugged the bowl protectively to her chest and plunged her fingers into the steaming paste again, scooping out a large handful. She filled her mouth with the delectable stuff. The paste smeared all over her chin and she giggled in delight, like a toddler with her first plate of spaghetti.  
  
Ummm. It was spaghetti and meatballs. It was blueberry Jell-O. No... spumoni. No... triple-fudge chocolate ice cream! The tasteless paste was everything and anything that Sam had fantasized about eating since her last meal. She couldn't get enough.  
  
Ptah's clamoring grew stronger. "Samantha Carter, listen to me. You must pace yourself, or you will have a tummy ache."  
  
Sam stopped, hand midway between the bowl and her mouth. Had the Gou'ald actually said tummy ache? An image popped into Sam's mind: Ptah, a flustered mother-snake, wearing a frilly apron and spooning gray paste onto a cookie sheet, admonishing her to go easy on the sweets or she'd have a tummy ache. Paste spurted in all directions as Sam giggled hysterically. Her body shook in helpless laughter and her abdominals clenched painfully. She couldn't stop laughing.  
  
Then she burped - a big, painful eruption. Her stomach rumbled ominously. Sam looked down at the bowl in dismay. Two-thirds of the paste was already gone. Her stomach felt leaden and hard. She felt like she was going to be sick.  
  
"The sarcophagus," Ptah said. "Quickly."  
  
Sam nodded. She had the presence of mind to return the bowl to it's place within the console. Her stomach heaved. She clamped a hand over her mouth and stumbled toward the healing bed. Oh, yeah, Sam thought, big tummy ache.  
  
________________  
  
  
  
Janet Fraiser zipped the outer bag carrying the medical supplies she would need when they reached Sam: a twenty kilo backpack weighed down with several sets of IV paraphernalia, bags of Ringer's Lactate, saline solution, dextrose solution, diuretics, along with several potent drug cocktails designed specifically for Sam's unique metabolism: pain killers, stimulants and, if need be, some heavy-duty sedatives.  
  
Normally Lieutenant Ramos, SG-2's field medic would be going on such a potentially hazardous mission, but this Goa'uld's reputation made General Hammond more cautious. Only those who had been exposed to Machello's toxin were allowed on this mission.  
  
Janet cast a baleful glance at the machine set up in the far corner of her lab. They would not be taking the Goa'uld extraction device. It was far too bulky and had too many delicate parts that risked breaking on the journey. Janet would get Sam stabilized and bring her home. The extraction would take place here, in the infirmary.  
  
She had imagined that the Goa'uld would be removed with some variation of the hand device. With its restraining straps and myriad appendages, the extraction device looked more like a holdover from the inquisition than state-of-the-art alien medical technology. The host was aware throughout the painful and, Janet had no doubt, terrifying procedure. It was cold comfort to know that it was far worse for the symbiote. Hippocratic oath notwithstanding, she didn't feel particularly compassionate toward parasites, not even intelligent ones.  
  
Janet grimaced as she wrestled the bulky pack onto her back, hoping she wouldn't have to carry it too far. After a bit of tunneling, they were hoping to use a raft and try to follow Sam's river route to the buried ship. She left the infirmary and hurried toward the Gate room. Teal'c was just about to go to P4N-285, and she didn't want to miss his spectacular exit.  
  
__________________________  
  
  
  
Teal'c hung parallel to the floor, suspended from scaffolding, head pointed at the Stargate. He eyed the active wormhole with trepidation. This never worked for Wile E. Coyote.  
  
The Tau'ri had a taste for danger that made a Jaffa's life seem almost tame by comparison. Throwing oneself out of a moving plane was foolhardy enough, but that had seemed as nothing compared with this. If it weren't for O'Neill's damaged knee, and Teal'c's own sense of responsibility toward Major Carter, Teal'c would have gladly let another attempt this endeavor.  
  
O'Neill stepped into Teal'c's field of vision. "How do you feel?"  
  
Teal'c's voice was slightly tremulous. "I feel like I have a rocket strapped to my back, O'Neill."  
  
"Yeah...well...." O'Neill cocked his head and nodded in agreement as he made a show of checking out Teal'c's assessment. The two friends locked eyes a moment. "Just do like you practiced and you'll be fine," O'Neill said reassuringly. "Have a nice flight, Rocket-man." He smiled and reached up to the helmet, pulling the protective visor over Teal'c's face. The Jaffa watched him leave the Gate room, the door sealing shut behind him.  
  
  
  
Sergeant Siler had come up with a strange and dangerous plan that rivaled any of Major Carter's. Since the Stargate on P4N-285 was horizontal and at the bottom of a deep hole whose sides were quickly closing in on the Gate, it had been decided that the only way to get a man onto that world was to shoot him through the Stargate at high velocity, thereby clearing the hole entirely. Thus the rocket belt.  
  
Teal'c's rocket belt consisted of fuel tanks, handlebars, a control throttle and a pair of rocket nozzles. Hydrogen peroxide fuel fed over fine silver mesh would act as a catalyst to produce a steam so hot it was nearly plasma. The steam would then be forced through the nozzles to unleash one hundred and fifty kilos of thrust and one hundred and thirty- five decibels of brain-rattling sound. Teal'c's "practice" had consisted of watching a video-taped recording of a stunt flyer named William P. Suitor, and then flying the aircraft himself, at first on tethers, then once in free flight. Though William P. Suitor insisted the rocket belt was a "dream to fly," the Tau'ri Air Force did not agree. They had long ago discarded the technology as unsafe. Now, only a handful of foolhardy men used the rocket belt technology. Daredevils, they were called. Teal'c had not enjoyed the experience, even less so than when O'Neill had pushed him out of that plane.  
  
"All systems are go. You may proceed when ready," General Hammond's calm voice sounded in Teal'c's ear. "This is no different than when we threaded the needle, son. Just don't forget that your flight-pack only allows you a maximum thirty seconds of thrust."  
  
Teal'c disagreed with General Hammond. This was quite different from when he and the General had launched a modified death-glider through the Stargate to Hathor's world to rescue his teammates. They had been traveling at a much reduced velocity, then, and the glider's hull had at least offered the illusion of protection. The rocket had only one speed: He would be propelled toward the wormhole at over one hundred kilometers per hour. His flimsy helmet would prove to be of little value were he to strike the Gate rather than enter the wormhole, or, were he to smash into the stone walls of P4N-285.  
  
He gripped the handlebars firmly. "Engaging thrusters," he spoke into the remote mic. The thumb of his right hand pressed the release nozzle. Instantly, a super-heated stream of high-pressure steam shot from the cone-shaped nozzles on Teal'c's back.  
  
The noise was unbearable: a whistling scream like steam escaping from a thousand teakettles. It caused the larva within Teal'c to writhe in panic. In a split-second, maximum thrust was achieved and the holding clamps on Teal'c's harness released.  
  
  
  
Teal'c shot out of the wormhole and into the sky of P4N-285, snaking high into the air in a crazy corkscrew spiral, losing several seconds of control to nausea and his wildly agitated symbiote. Teal'c clenched his teeth as he fought for mastery over his senses and eased up on the throttle. Inertia kept him climbing upwards for several hundred meters and for a few seconds he was overcome with the unreasonable fear that he might actually break away from the planet and go into orbit. Finally, he felt himself slowing.  
  
For a second, Teal'c hovered at full-stop, caught momentarily in limbo between inertia and gravity. Then gravity won, and he dropped from the sky like a stone. Bile rose in his throat, and Teal'c clamped down on it, squeezing the hand grips as he had been shown, and with short bursts from the thrusters, started a more or less controlled descent. He worked the throttle as gently as his shaking hands would allow, and eased himself toward the ground. Earth-moving machines and other light equipment had been brought onto the site from Earth before the quake had buried the Gate, and Teal'c directed his flight path so that he would land beside them.  
  
He landed with a light thud and dropped to one knee, his legs momentarily unwilling to bear his weight. His symbiote thrashed in rebuke for its host's foolhardiness, and Teal'c quickly lost the contents of his stomach.  
  
Teal'c shrugged the rocket belt off quickly, relieved to be finished with it. He was also immensely relieved that he was alone. The Tau'ri were of the opinion that Jaffa were impervious to discomfort. They were not. Neither were they immune to embarrassment. Teal'c did not doubt that O'Neill would have come through this ordeal unaffected. He could even imagine General Hammond enjoying this form of flight. The older man would have been bellowing his war-whoop at touch-down, not losing his breakfast. That was not at all surprising to Teal'c. Throwing themselves from high-flying planes and being shot like a projectile though the sky were considered leisure activities by the Tau'ri.  
  
Clearing his head with a shake, Teal'c got to work. His first order of business was to set up the radio so that its signal was aimed at outer space. It would continually broadcast a coded message from Garshaw, warning Aldwin to hold his position and hold off his bombardment until further notice. That task finished, Teal'c turned his attention to raising the Gate.  
  
The small payloader they had used to escape P4N-285 was still parked some distance away from the gaping hole. During their escape from the planet, they had used the winch's remote starter to control their descent into the hole, and Teal'c had brought the small black box back with him.  
  
He found the chest containing several large, heavy-duty clamps and secured it to the winch's cable. Teal'c climbed onto the chest and stood, an arm hooked around the cable. The chest made a jarring lurch as he activated the winch with the remote controller, and Teal'c began his descent to the Gate. As he descended, stones that still fell from the ever-narrowing walls of the hole bounced noisily off his helmet and thickly padded shoulders.  
  
When he reached the Gate, he worked rapidly, placing the clamps in such a way as to stabilize it without interfering with the ring's rotation. He then threaded the cable through the clamps. When the cable was secured, Teal'c activated the payloader's winch again. Soon the Gate was upright.  
  
Teal'c stood inside the ring and let the winch hoist him and the Stargate out of the hole. Once back on the surface, he set about anchoring it. Using the cable threaded through the clamps as guy wires, he secured the ends to the heavy equipment vehicles. Colonel Jones' unit would come through and secure the Gate more efficiently.  
  
Less than two hours after Teal'c's spectacular arrival on P4N-285, a team assembled on the planet's surface and prepared to move out: the men of SG-1, Doctor Fraiser, Jacob and Anise. But this time they were not on foot.  
  
Teal'c drove one of the sturdy pickup trucks that had been brought on site three weeks earlier. O'Neill rode shot-gun with him in the cab while the others piled into the truck bed, wedged among medical supplies, tunneling equipment and climbing gear. They would drive to the site where they had lost Major Carter. What would have been a four-hour hike took only twenty minutes. With the threat of more quakes and bombardment from the sky, time was a critical factor, both for them and for the languishing Major.  
  
_________________  
  
  
  
Jack leaned over a hole in the ground - the mouth of the Tok'Ra tunnel - and peered inside. "They've been at it for hours," he complained. "How much longer?"  
  
  
  
Anise could not dig her tunnel directly above Ptah's ship. Thorstone covered an area of several kilometers around the vessel. They needed to start in an area where the rocks were of a more common and easily penetrable variety. The local landmass of P4N-285 was mostly basalt and limestone. Days spent studying the subterranean topography had led Anise to the conclusion that the Major's point of entry into the planet was probably the safest and quickest way to reach her.  
  
Jacob and Anise were deep inside the planet, growing their magic rabbit hole to Wonderland. Much to Jack's frustration, they wouldn't let him help. Tunneling crystals were one of those Tok'Ra prizes that were still off limits to the "primitive Tau'ri," and no amount of blustering on Jack's part would persuade Jacob to share. The two had vociferously argued politics until finally, Selmac, in an uncharacteristic show of temper that impressed even Jack, had stepped in and silenced both men. Now he sat on the planet's surface with his team, and waited, and did nothing.  
  
And that was the problem. It seemed to Jack that 'nothing' was all he did these days. Carter needed him to be doing something for her, not sitting around and letting everybody else do the work.  
  
The Tok'Ra were building their tunnel, Teal'c had done the whole "Rocket- man" thing and gotten them back onto the planet, Janet was going to be playing doctor and nurse Carter back to health, and Daniel; Daniel had worked the hardest. Daniel had refused to let Carter be dead.  
  
A familiar panic rose, squeezing his chest at the memory of Sam, disappearing into the ground. At first Jack wouldn't even let Daniel talk to him about the possibility that she had survived.  
  
Jack could forgive himself for not being able to get Sam out of the hole. What he wouldn't forgive was that he had given up on her so easily. How could he have done that to her? Hadn't she shown him dozens of times that there wasn't a situation she couldn't haul herself and just about everybody else out of?  
  
It wasn't that Jack hadn't wanted to believe. He had actually bought into Daniel's story for awhile. But then their aerial survey of P4N, and Siler's pessimism had killed all hope. Buried alive, a long drop into a deep cavern, a freezing river ten kliks long - Siler was right, real people didn't survive such things. Yet, because Daniel had refused to let it drop, because he had kept looking, here they were, just a few hours away from rescuing Sam. He gazed at the hole. If they ever got down there.  
  
The tunnel took forever even to begin growing, and then when it did expand and deepen inwards, the passage was narrow and barely a meter in height. It was ironic that the stones that had swallowed Sam so easily were so unyielding now.  
  
Anise had explained how the crystals worked. Solid rock wasn't so solid. It was full of holes and air-pockets: cracks caused by stress-points, tubes hollowed through the rock by water erosion. The tunneling crystals changed the molecular structure of the rock, making it act like a fluid and forcing it, by compression, to squeeze into those empty spaces in the surrounding rock. As the tunnels formed, the surrounding rock structure became incredibly dense, turning the subterranean structures into nearly impervious fortresses.  
  
Thorstone was different. The perfect little spheres didn't have any spaces within them that the tunneling crystals could exploit. It was in the strange gravitational fields surrounding the stones that Anise had finally found purchase for boring a tunnel. But the stone's weak gravitational field became stronger the deeper into them one penetrated. The thorstone's natural tendency was to push against the tunnel, to fill the aberrant emptiness created by the artificial passage through their space. It was taking most of Anise' short supply of crystals to build a tunnel strong enough to withstand the crushing pressure, and there was no knowing how many more passages she would have to open through the planet before they reached Ptah's ship.  
  
Anise, not knowing the true situation, had not brought a large supply of crystals when she had first accompanied Jacob to Earth, and on her secretive return, she had not been able to bring more back with her.  
  
She had explained all this to Jack and the others, prattling on with her geological terms, about anastomosis, and about cohesiveness and stress- points and cleavage. Jack didn't have a clue what she was talking about. He had wondered about the cleavage part, though, and had tuned-out her babbling, lost in his own thoughts as he compared the well-endowed Tok'Ra to the smooth, round and treacherous thorstone.  
  
At any rate, Jack understood that the stones exerted stress on the tunnel walls the deeper in they went, so Anise had sacrificed roominess for structural integrity. He also knew that this was taking way too long.  
  
At least Carter was in the sarcophagus now, and Jack found dubious comfort in that. It had taken her long enough to decide to use it, but at least now she wasn't in danger of starving.  
  
He worried about what they would find when they released her from stasis. She'd look perfect, of course - the sarcophagus would erase all outward signs of her ordeal - but what would she be like inside? Would she still be in control? Would she still be Sam? Jack knew that the longer she stayed in the damned thing, the more of Sam they were bound to lose. An involuntary shudder shook his shoulders as Jack remembered Daniel's long, hard struggle against sarc addiction. It had been an ordeal for all of them, one that had continued long after their release from Pyrus' mines.  
  
  
  
"Jack, come in?"  
  
Jack toggled the transmit button on his radio. "What's up, Jacob?"  
  
"The tunnel is growing rapidly now. Anise thinks we're past the worst part. We should reach Sam's Cavern soon."  
  
  
  
Sam wasn't in Sam's Cavern, that was just the name SG-1 had given to the place where Sam would have escaped her thorstone grave. Anise had unimaginatively called it "Major Carter's insertion point into the subterranean levels of the planet." Sam was in Ptah's Cavern, and that place was a good ten kilometers from here.  
  
"Great. Need more rope?"  
  
"Soon," Jacob sent back. After a few minutes he spoke again. "Slope's gotten steep. From the looks of things we're in for a rappel."  
  
"Understood," Jack said. He looked at his team. "Let's gear up."  
  
~~~  
  
Jacob crouched behind Freya in the claustrophobic space of the tunnel, trying to ignore the ominous grinding sounds and the heat emanating from the newly-formed walls. Heat was a natural by-product of tunnel- building. Normally it wasn't a hardship for the older man, whose once- arthritic bones still enjoyed the warmth despite Selmac's curative abilities, but the tunnels they usually built were much larger. Here, his shoulders brushed the sides of the walls and, in a crouch his head almost touched the ceiling.  
  
But it was the sounds of the thorstones protesting against the tunnel walls that set Jacob on edge. These walls were strange, even for a man who had grown accustomed to strangeness. Even Selmac was unnerved by them. Tunnel walls were normally solid, unmoving. These walls moved.  
  
The stones rolled in place against each other, an angry mob, poised to rush their barricade and trample the intruders. They would have to be careful not to penetrate the walls, for doing so could break-up their cohesiveness and make the passageway collapse, burying them alive as they had his daughter.  
  
Jacob shook his head in disbelief. If this made him uncomfortable, what must it have been like for Sam? The first thing Jacob had done when he had arrived at the sinkhole was to bury his arm into the stones up to his shoulder. At first, Selmac had not interfered, letting him experience a sense of what his daughter had endured, but in the end, Selmac had to add his strength to Jacob's just to get his arm back out.  
  
They were coming on thirty meters of tunnel, now. Thirty meters that Sam had been pulled through. How long had she been in the thorstone before it had dropped her into her cavern? Was she conscious the whole time?  
  
"The thing to remember is that she survived," Selmac reminded him gently. "And since that time she has been in the sarcophagus. Those wounds are no more."  
  
"Right," Jacob answered his symbiote bleakly. "Now she's got a whole new set of wounds, which no technology will ever be able to heal."  
  
At least the tunnel was forming quickly now, taking on that runaway- train speed associated with a wall of stone opening into a clear space. Suddenly the wall broke open, and a cool breeze whooshed past them from below.  
  
"Finally!" host and symbiote exclaimed in unison. Jacob fingered the radio. "We've reached Sam's Cavern. Give us more rope.... Okay that's enough. I'm going go have a look."  
  
Anise gingerly hugged one wall, allowing Jacob to squeeze past her. Carefully, he crept forward over the almost-fluidic slope until he came to the tunnel's edge. Jacob switched on his headlamp and peered into the blackness, but the strong beam couldn't penetrate to the bottom of the cavern. He reached into his pack and brought out a light-stick, snapping the rod to allow the chemicals to mix. He dropped the light-stick through the opening in the tunnel. It fell for a long time. The stick's intensely bright light illuminated a large area of the cavern.  
  
"Holy Hannah!"  
  
"Jacob?"  
  
"S'okay," he answered Jack's worried call. "It's just..." he swallowed. "It's so...big!"  
  
Selmac shared Jacob's shock: Samantha hadn't fallen into a cavern, she had fallen into a chasm.  
  
***  
  
  
  
Daniel hung suspended from a safety harness, his upper legs and body parallel to the ceiling, one ankle hitched over the rope that stretched across it. His eyes were fixed on the rope in his hands. Hand over hand, he pulled himself forward. A pulley attached to his harness at the hips rolled smoothly over the rope. He was perfectly safe.  
  
Nevertheless, a familiar panic simmered in his gut. Daniel fought it by concentrating on his work. He had done some caving, both before and since joining the Stargate program. Many archeological digs were found deep inside caves and he'd had to rappel down from dizzying heights to get to some of them, but this was different. He wasn't rappelling down walls here, he was scaling a ceiling over an abyss with a fast moving river at the bottom. Still, he was managing well enough, until....  
  
  
  
"Whoa!"  
  
"Daniel!"  
  
Daniel's eyes squeezed tightly shut as the planet tried to shake him from its back. He froze and his grip on the ropes tightened. His heart banged against his chest as though it were trying to bail out of its obviously crazy owner.  
  
"Daniel, listen to me," Jack called out. He was crouched at the tunnel opening, waiting for his turn on the ropes. "Quake's over now." Jack's voice broke through the remnants of Daniel's panic, steady, comforting, an anchor as strong as the ones holding him to the rock-face. "You should keep going."  
  
Daniel kept his eyes closed. "I'm alright!" His overly-loud yell of assurance said he was anything but. The quake had messed everything up. It had lent strength to a phobia Daniel had pretty much overcome since his time on SG-1.  
  
Pretty much. Now he clung to the rope, trembling as much as the planet, praying that the anchors would hold his weight.  
  
Daniel forced his eyes open. The ceiling was still right there in front of his face. He could reach up and touch it if he could just relax his fear-frozen grip on the rope. The chasm floor wasn't rushing up to meet him. It was still far, far...far below. He gasped and closed his eyes again. Don't think about what's under you, especially since there's nothing under you, at least not for a long..... No! Don't think about that. Look at the ceiling. Look at your hands.  
  
  
  
Sam's Chasm was way too big. It was way too deep. The rock walls were too smooth. The sides rose vertically from a depth too great for their strong headlamps to penetrate. The only way down to the chasm floor was to let themselves drop onto an unstable mountain of thorstone, and take a dangerous, uncontrolled slide, straight down into the water.  
  
The river made a crashing sound that carried all the way to the top of the chasm, and though Sam had been forced to take that route, her rescuers had decided to cut across fifteen meters of the cavern's roof, then descend straight down another twenty or so meters to a ledge, and try to get to the river from there. It would be much safer.  
  
At least, that was the general consensus. Now, hanging upside-down from the ceiling with at least a hundred meter drop to the river raging below him, Daniel wished he had taken his chances with the mountain.  
  
He forced his body to relax, concentrating on the rope above him. The rhythm the quake had shaken from him gradually returned as, hand over hand, Daniel advanced under the belay rope that Teal'c had rigged.  
  
The belay, or main rope, and an additional lifeline, stretched across the ceiling between the Tok'Ra tunnel opening and the place where Teal'c hung waiting for Daniel. The ropes were fed through two separate rings attached to Daniel's body harness. Earlier, Teal'c had free-handed his way across the roof of the cavern, setting the self-drilling anchor bolts all the way across the fifteen meter span. The belay was threaded through these anchor points. Daniel knew that if the anchors could hold Teal'c, they would hold him, just as they had earlier held Jacob, Anise and Janet. There was no way he could fall. Intellectually he knew that it really was perfectly safe. It was just his phobia that thought it knew better.  
  
"I have you, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c said gently when he finally reached the end of the belay. "I will prepare you for the descent."  
  
Daniel's fear was in check now. He watched his friend's hands as Teal'c expertly threaded the descent rope though the descender racks on Daniel's harness. He felt self-conscious for having lost control, and grateful that the unflappable Jaffa didn't think any less of him for it. He grasped the vertically hanging lifeline and Teal'c put the free end of the belay rope into Daniel's other hand. He gave Teal'c a nod of thanks and let the free end of both ropes slip slowly through his hands. The ropes threaded smoothly through the racks at his chest and thigh, and he started his descent.  
  
He was in control again. His headlamp could pick out Janet, Jacob and Anise waiting on the ledge below. Shortly he joined them.  
  
Jacob stepped up to him the moment Daniel touched down, his face unreadable as, without comment, he freed him of the ropes. Daniel felt a steadying hand on his arm. "You alright?" Janet asked.  
  
"Uh, yeah," he answered, embarrassed. "I, uh...it's just," his hand motioned toward the high ceiling, then rested on his head. "I'm... I'm better now."  
  
Janet smiled and squeezed his arm encouragingly. "Can't say I was crazy about doing that, either, but hopefully that's the only rappel we'll have to make. This ledge goes on for quite a ways on a downward slope."  
  
~~~  
  
Teal'c and Jack soon joined the group. They made their way single-file along the rocky ledge that rimmed this portion of the cavern walls. Although the ledge did lead downwards, the team often had to climb up to get around breakdowns - mounds of fallen rock that blocked their passage. Progress was slow, and by the time the ridge had become too narrow to follow, the team was exhausted and ready for a break.  
  
Jack estimated that, as the crow flies, they were about three kilometers from where they had entered the cave. Sam's Chasm, as they had re-named it, was a horseshoe-shaped cavern, and their ridge had brought them nearly to the point where, if they could have continued, they would be heading back towards the tunnel.  
  
They were closer to the river now, though they still couldn't see the water with their headlamps. Mist from the crashing waters reached all the way up to where they were standing, making the ledge dangerously slick. Jack dropped a light-stick into the noisome blackness. As it fell, its intense light illuminated the river's swift current. The river flowed against shear rock face that rose straight up on both sides. There was no shore of any kind where they could set up the inflatable raft and climb into it. The light-stick hit the water and the team followed its glow for several meters. At one point the stick appeared to remain in one place, bobbing in the water like a bright neon cork, then disappearing under the foam.  
  
Jacob had been standing beside Jack. "River goes under the rock for a ways." He put a hand to his head. "God, Sam, how did you...?" The older man's voice trailed off, lost in the river's thunder. He turned away from it and leaned his head against the wall, both fists clenching and unclenching in an effort to keep his emotions in check.  
  
Jack knew the battle that raged inside Jacob, how hard it was for the seasoned old soldier to show his feelings for his daughter, even in this dark place. In the military you learned not to wear your heart on your sleeve. Jack put a hand on Jacob's shoulder. "She just... did, Jacob," he reminded him. "She made it."  
  
Jacob nodded vigorously, unable to speak, but his eyes and the forced smile showed the man's gratitude. The mannerism was familiar to Jack; he had seen it often enough on Sam, in Antarctica, in Pyrus' mine, and in countless other desperate situations they'd been in. She might get discouraged at times, but she was no quitter; this place definitely proved that. No, he reminded himself bitterly, this time I was the quitter.  
  
"So, what now?" Janet asked, interrupting his morose thoughts. There was a hint of desperation in her voice.  
  
"I will begin a new tunnel here," Anise answered. "Hopefully it will bring us to a more accessible section of the river. This rock face is limestone and therefore will be much quicker and easier to penetrate than the thorstone."  
  
Jack sank down against the wall, grimacing from the pain in his bad knee. "We'll take a break while you get things set up."  
  
  
  
Jack closed his eyes and tried to rest, but his throbbing knee competed with nightmarish images of Carter being swept away in the swift current of the river. Up until now, Jack had only tormented himself with the images of her being buried alive in thorstone, and then being taken over by a Goa'uld. He hadn't given a lot of thought to what she'd had to go through to get from that first disaster to the last.  
  
Jack had seen the look of desperate terror in Sam's eyes, as she was buried alive by the thorstones. In his nightmares it was always Jack, not Teal'c, who had her by the hand. It was Jack who let her go.  
  
Jack's eyes closed. Soon, his head fell against his chest in exhaustion.  
  
  
  
The little stones roiled about Carter like raging waters, crashing over her head like waves and receding, leaving more and more of her covered until only her face was visible. She gazed up at him from out of her stone maelstrom, eyes pleading. Jack felt the current pulling her away from him. He moaned in desperation, holding more tightly to her hand, squeezing until he felt her bones crush in his grip. Her eyes went from pleading to accusing; he was failing her.  
  
"Jack?"  
  
I'm sorry, Sam! I'm pulling as hard as I can. It's just...I can't.... He moaned.  
  
"Jack!"  
  
God, Sam! I'm losing you! I can't hold on. Hurts too much.... Sam!  
  
A hand on his shoulder roused Jack from his nightmare. Eyes wide, he took in his surroundings. The breath he was holding came out in a gasp.  
  
"Jack!"  
  
Jack looked up, startled. Freya knelt beside him, a hand on his shoulder, concern in her eyes. "You were moaning. I believe your knee is giving you much grief."  
  
His knee? He stared sightlessly at the throbbing joint. It was stiff and it burned like fire, but it was endurable, nothing like the pain in his chest. "Yeah, my knee," he said quietly.  
  
"Please, Jack, let me help you."  
  
He shook his head to clear it. Why was she suddenly calling him Jack? Why couldn't she call him Colonel like everybody else? Hell, even Sam never called him Jack.  
  
"Colonel," Janet said from her place behind the Tok'Ra woman. We've reached the end of the new tunnel. Teal'c is rigging it for what looks like another hard climb. I don't think your knee will hold out, Sir. I think you should let her use the healing device on you.  
  
Jack stared at Janet incredulously. "You agree with her?"  
  
The Doctor grimaced in distaste. "These are special circumstances, Sir. That knee could really slow us all down." Jack opened his mouth to protest. "And I think Sam's already waited long enough, don't you?" She gave him a pointed look.  
  
  
  
"So, " Jack said nervously, staring into the glowing stone that hovered just inches from his face. "How's pointing that thing at my brain going to help my knee?"  
  
"Ssh," Freya admonished. Her brow knit in concentration as she wielded the device over Jack's forehead, then slowly ran it down the length of his body to his knee.  
  
Warmth spread through Jack, radiating outwards from everywhere the healing light touched him. In the wake of its passage his weariness evaporated, leaving him feeling stronger, more alert. The light enveloped his knee and lingered there, and Jack bit back a moan at the almost sensual pleasure brought on by the relief. When she finished, Jack stared at the device in the Tok'Ra's hands with new appreciation. "Okay," he admitted enthusiastically, "now that was cool."  
  
Freya smiled and placed a hand on his knee, massaging it delicately. "Unfortunately this is an old injury and your knee is damaged beyond the healing device's ability to repair completely, but it should feel much improved."  
  
"Yes." Jack cleared his throat nervously, then gently but firmly, he grasped Freya by the wrist and lifted her hand away from him. "It's much improved. Thank you." He let go of her, rising quickly to his feet, and made a show of bending his knees. Embarrassed, he glanced at Janet. The good Doctor was scowling dangerously at Freya.  
  
"Shouldn't we be joining the others?" Jack said, motioning them toward the tunnel. As the three entered the narrow passage, Jack and Janet shared a look. Janet nodded in understanding and pulled ahead, leaving Jack alone with Freya.  
  
"Look, it's not that I don't appreciate what you did...what you've done...are doing.... It's just... I'd rather you called me Colonel, Okay?"  
  
Freya looked straight ahead. "I only want to be your friend," she said softly.  
  
"Yeah, well, my friends call me Colonel."  
  
"Daniel calls you Jack."  
  
".... Okay," Jack conceded reluctantly. "But that's different."  
  
"Jacob also calls you Jack."  
  
Jack scowled. "Look, I'd just feel more comfortable if you...didn't. Please?"  
  
Freya turned to look at him, clearly baffled by what appeared to be yet another Tau'ri cultural inhibition. "As you wish...Colonel." They continued in silence a moment.  
  
"So, Colonel, are we friends?"  
  
Behind her, Jack shrugged. "Hey, friends help friends, and you're definitely being a big help here. We're all very grateful."  
  
"I see."  
  
Jack heard the disappointment in her tone. She seemed to have gotten the point. Jack fervently hoped so. They finished their walk in silence.  
  
~~~  
  
The new tunnel opened into a vast, circular shaft beside a roaring waterfall. The water crashed down from high above them. Here, as in Sam's Chasm, the walls fell away, straight and smooth, right into the churning river, still several stories below them. It was as if they had come out midway down a gargantuan barrel. Going down was out of the question.  
  
Teal'c leaned out of the tunnel as far as he could and peered upwards. His headlamp played against the shining black bedrock, and followed it up until he saw a change in color from black to beige. The line where bedrock met limestone stood out plainly. Water gushed from a large opening it had pried between the hard basalt and the soluble limestone. High above the falls, a ridge of boulders and outcrops looked like it might serve as a catwalk. Teal'c would have to go up there and have a look. Jacob and Daniel were with him in the tunnel. He explained his plan to them and kited himself with an ample supply of self-drilling anchors and rope.  
  
He worked by touch as much as by sight, exploiting hand-holds in the smooth walls wherever he could, embedding the anchors only where necessary. The surface was slippery, and in no time he was thoroughly soaked. The falls crashed deafeningly beside him. He could feel its force thrumming through the rock under his fingers as they sought purchase on the wall.  
  
Soon, Teal'c came abreast of the mouth of the waterfall. He edged up close to the opening and cast about inside with his headlamp. A wide, high-ceilinged passage, hollowed out by the river, flowed toward him and fell into the shaft he was climbing. The walls of the passageway curved acutely into the deep, fast-flowing water.  
  
Teal'c saw the water's handiwork in the river tunnel. Running along both sides of the passage was an almost ruler-straight, horizontal line that marked the change from bedrock to limestone. What had started out as ground water seeping through the rock and eating away at it, had, over millennia, progressively hollowed out this passage and the shaft it fell into, denuding the bedrock of its softer limestone covering. For the moment the river was low, but the shape of the passageway said it was not always so. At higher water levels, Teal'c knew that they would not have been able to traverse this chamber.  
  
He looked up. Over the roof of the falls, limestone that had been spared from erosion was actually growing outwards, as mineral-laden mist from the water laid a smooth, calcite masonry over it. The shelf extended over the mouth of the falls: an overhang that protruded out for a ways and then curled downwards, mimicking the contours of the river that fed it: a limestone image of the falls in the making.  
  
Impressive as the formations were, Teal'c spared little time on sight- seeing. He continued to climb. He pulled himself up onto a promising looking ledge. Shining his lamp along it, he nodded to himself, satisfied that it was passable. He prepared the ropes that would expedite his teammate's ascent. Soon after, his team joined him above the falls.  
  
  
  
"Nice place ya got here," O'Neill yelled to Teal'c as he gave him a hand up onto the ledge.  
  
"Thank-you," Teal'c yelled back.  
  
"Noisy, though. So whatcha gonna name it?"  
  
Teal'c frowned.  
  
"You gotta name it," O'Neill cajoled. "How about, Teal'c's Falls?"  
  
Teal'c looked down at the water cascading into the deep cylindrical shaft. "That is acceptable, O'Neill." His friend grinned smugly and turned to go. "Until I have time to think of something more imaginative." O'Neill stopped. He turned to stare at Teal'c, his jaw hanging open. Without another word, Teal'c pulled past him to catch up with the others, an eyebrow raised in a smile.  
  
  
  
The wide ridge climbed nearly to the top of the cavern, almost touching the ceiling in places. Sometimes the group was forced to advance on hands and knees, while in other places the ledge fell away entirely, and they had to scale the walls to reach another ledge. But finally, their path led downwards again, away from the ceiling, and they arrived at the opposite side of the cavern, well below the point where they had entered it. The noise as the cataract crashed against the sides of the stone shaft made speaking impossible.  
  
~~~  
  
Janet studied the wall carefully for signs of a cave or at least a passage to one. Her teeth chattered from the cold, unheard over the waterfall's crashing din. No one had expected to be caving under these conditions. They had relied on the Tok'Ra crystals to take them most if not all the way to Sam, but Anise had used up most of her stash on the first tunnel. Janet wished they had brought water-proof clothing.  
  
Daniel found a palm-sized hole where the ridge met the rock face. He got to his knees and tore at the loose rocks around the hole, widening the opening appreciably. Janet frowned as he bent low and peered into it. What did he think they were, rabbits? No human would fit through that.  
  
Jack noticed the activity too, and knelt beside Daniel. His grasp on Daniel's shoulder said: "Got something?"  
  
Daniel moved aside to allow Jack to investigate the opening for himself. Presently, Jack pulled away from the hole, shaking his head.  
  
Anise patted her bag of crystals and, knowing what he was suggesting, responded with a shake of her own head. They were still some distance from Ptah's ship and tunneling crystals were in short supply. Jack grimaced and raised both hands in a shrug that said: "What do you suggest?" Anise nodded towards the hole. Jack relinquished his place to her. The Tok'Ra bent over and stuck her head into the opening, but presently withdrew. She cast an appraising eye on Janet's slight frame. She nodded decisively and made hand gestures to the Colonel, pointing at Janet, then at the tiny hole.  
  
Janet's eyes widened and she backed away. Surely Anise wasn't suggesting...!  
  
________________  
  
  
  
Janet took another deep, calming breath, and pressed onward, squirming and snaking her way through the small passage that was Daniel's little rabbit hole. Being petite had its drawbacks, especially in the tall- sized world of the military, but never had she regretted her lack of stature more than now.  
  
She was so going to hurt Anise.  
  
Janet wasn't claustrophobic, but this place threatened to change that, so she used her anger at Anise as a distraction against the crushing closeness of the rock walls. Her temper helped keep her warm as she writhed and wriggled and fought her way through the rock-cluttered passage.  
  
The cramped passage was little more than a squirm way in places. Even in here, there was no escaping the water. It seeped through the porous limestone, dripping on her from above, pooling beneath her, and coating her from head to foot with mud. It got into her tee-shirt, and every time she moved the tiny grains abraded her skin like sandpaper.  
  
Just wait til we get back to the SGC, she thought angrily. That slimy, sneaky Tok'Ra is going to get the Mother of all physicals.  
  
Stalagmites and stalactites grew from the floor and ceiling, further impeding her progress, and at times Janet felt as though she was negotiating around the fangs of a giant, misshapen jaw. Or the neck vertebrae of a host, she thought, shuddering at the morbid comparison. Still, she couldn't help wondering what it must be like for Anise in the incredibly cramped confines of --  
  
Oh, do not try to empathize with that...that power-hungry, pushy, self- absorbed....  
  
Janet had to take her helmet off to keep its light from snagging against the jagged, low ceiling. She pushed the headlamp ahead of her and for several meters, advanced on her stomach, scraping painfully against rocks and stumps of limestone teeth, broken by her intrusion. The limestone protrusions snagged at her hair. Her frustration increased the more slowly she advanced.  
  
overbearing, haughty, deceitful little....  
  
Janet wrestled with a large rock that blocked her path.  
  
And that hussy, Freya. She was as much a snake as her symbiote. What was she thinking: that the Colonel was going to fall into her arms just because she had waved her magic wand over his knee?  
  
"Arrgh!" She growled through clenched teeth, as she pulled at the rock. Freya was there when Anise had forced the Colonel and Sam to pour their hearts out during the zatarc retest; she knew damned well how those two felt about each other. What was she really...really doing here, anyway?  
  
The rock came away suddenly. Janet tossed it clumsily behind her and in the cramped space it bounced painfully on her hip and rolled off her to land between her legs. With a exasperated sigh, she stopped, laying still and giving her muscles a much-needed break.  
  
As she lay there resting, a measure of calm returned. She knew she was probably being a tad unfair. After all, Freya was going to be in trouble with her people for trying to help them rescue Sam.  
  
She frowned. Freya, Anise - both of them - seemed like the kind of person...people, who couldn't help but get into trouble. Janet wondered if either the host or the symbiote had any friends, even among their own kind. Whatever the Tok'Ra's reasons, Janet had to admit that she was glad for the help. Okay, so, maybe she wouldn't hurt the alien. At least, not on this mission.  
  
Janet got going again. Progress slowed even more as the crawlway got smaller, but the opening continued, and so would she. It wasn't like she had a choice; turning around was not an option in the narrow passageway. Determined, she reached for the headlamp to push it ahead of her.  
  
She felt a light breeze cool her wet fingers. Excited, she pressed her head up against the low ceiling, trying to see past the dull illumination of her mud-covered headlamp, but it revealed only more of the narrow, rock-strewn crawlway. Still, Anise had said that moving air meant that the passage led to something larger - possibly to another large cavern. Ptah's cavern? The encouraging thought buoyed her spirits, helping Janet to inch forward.  
  
Using the limestone deposits as pitons, Janet pulled herself along, trying to think herself smaller. At one point she became aware that the passage had sloped downward. For the first time since she had entered the crawlway, Janet felt panic. Backing up would have been hard enough on a level slope, backing up would be completely impossible. She focused on the breeze that was getting steadily stronger the further forward she went. Her dogged persistence was rewarded as the passage finally widened out. After a few more meters her squirm-space widened into a crawl-space again, and finally, into a crouch-space.  
  
Janet pulled her weary body into a sitting position and slumped against the wall. She was exhausted and she ached all over. She started to shiver, and she knew she had to get moving again. She took the small radio that had been taped to her helmet, and carefully unwrapped it. "There seems to be a way through," she called into it.  
  
A sound like white noise came through the radio. She pressed it to her ear and strained to listen, remembering that her teammates were right beside a waterfall.  
  
".... lead ...ther cavern?"  
  
"Standby," Janet called back. She put the helmet on her head and got to her feet. The stalagmites stood straight up in the crawlway, but out here they were little more than bumpy ridges as gravity caused the mineral build-up to flow downward. Presently, the floor of the passage flowed, like a petrified waterfall, down into a large, irregularly- shaped chamber. It was tiny compared to the other two caverns, but its size was still impressive. Janet could hear the rush of the river, now, and she shined her light in the direction of the sound.  
  
As her light played over the cavern, Janet gave a small gasp of delight. She clambered down the flowstone and into the chamber, staring in wide- eyed amazement. Sam's chasm was beautiful in that imposing, Grand Canyon sort of way, and Teal'c's Falls was beautiful in a majestic power sort of way. But this....  
  
The beauty of the chamber was enthralling, filling the religiously ambivalent Doctor with awe. Startlingly bright turquoise water pooled in fanciful calcite basins. The basins held a treasure trove of beautiful, razor-sharp mineral formations. Over them, thin circles of lacy stone dotted the still water's surface like doilies. Behind her, Janet heard the river's strong flow, a sound incongruous with the pools' pristine stillness. The walls of the chamber trickled water, each mineral-laden drop building upon the deposits laid down by its predecessor, patiently sculpting the calcium carbonate into fantastic monoliths that reached all the way to the cathedral-like ceiling. The formations took the shape of enormous, intricately-crafted pipe organs, their white, beige and rust-colored pipes rising high above her head in whimsical staggered arches. Janet marveled that she was the first living soul ever to lay eyes on this wondrous place.  
  
With difficulty, she tore her gaze away from the sight and looked for the river. Spying an opening at one end of the chamber, she made her way carefully around the fragile pools to investigate. The hole was wide, and her helmet-light penetrated the inky blackness to the water's surface, and, more importantly, a shoreline. Finally, they would be able to take the river, hopefully, for the rest of the way.  
  
Excited, Janet radioed the news of her find to the waiting members of her team. She told Anise just how far she would have to tunnel to get past the tightest part of the passageway. Then she settled in to wait, relishing the last of her time alone with her discovery before she had to share it with the others.  
  
A sound caught Janet's attention; a strange tinkling, like chimes, funneled in through the passageway that led into the chamber. It bounced off the wet walls, repeating with startling clarity in soft, mellow tones. She barely recognized it as the sound of rock yielding to the tunneling crystals. Janet held her breath, enraptured by the cavern's incredible symphony - an alien fantasia played on fragile stone calliopes.  
  
Janet felt something stir deep within her soul: a profound gratitude, though she knew not toward whom or what. "God" was a concept she found ever harder to grasp since her time at the SGC, yet, she couldn't imagine what purpose a place like this could possibly have, other than to surprise and delight. Why would nature, toiling in blind silence, create such beautiful works of art? If there really was a true God of everything, did he sometimes come to this place? Was this an inner sanctum of his, a refuge for when the universe out there got to be too much, even for him?  
  
Considering the mess Sam was in at the moment, she decided that "God" must be busy elsewhere in the galaxy, so, until he told her otherwise, Janet was claiming this cavern as her own. She figured she'd earned the right to name it, and 'Janet's Cave' simply wouldn't do it justice. She smiled when the perfect name came to mind.  
  
The music changed as the tunnel finished growing and the bell-like tinkling gave way to the sounds of footsteps. Janet faced the opening and smiled in anticipation of their reactions. Colonel O'Neill was the first to come through. His expression didn't disappoint her.  
  
"Whoa! Oh yeah!" Jack stopped in front of her and smiled. "I love what you've done with the place." He held up her jacket. Janet took it gratefully and slipped it on. He then held out a thermos and an energy bar. Janet reached for the bar eagerly and bit into it as the Colonel poured her a steaming cup of coffee.  
  
"You did good, Major," he said quietly, acknowledging her, not as a doctor, but as the soldier that she rarely got the chance to be.  
  
Janet stood a little straighter, pleased at the unexpected praise. Grinning, she took the cup from his hand. "Thank you, Sir."  
  
He nodded. "So, how's the new beauty treatment working out?"  
  
Janet looked up at the Colonel over the rim of her coffee, confused. His fingers reached out to almost touch her hair. Janet realized that she must look a sight, covered as she was in mud. It felt like cement as the muck of the crawlway solidified in her hair and on her clothes. "I'll be more than happy to wash it off, Sir. But not here," she added quickly, putting a hand out to prevent him from disturbing the quiet pools. "The river is right down there." She grinned, pointing triumphantly at the hole. "And Colonel, there's plenty of room to launch the raft."  
  
***  
  
Sam lay in the open sarcophagus, staring up at the ceiling, a satisfied smile on her face. Her tummy ache was gone and she felt almost well again. There was still some food left in Ptah's chambers. Life was good.  
  
  
  
"So, Mister "I have never lied to you, --""  
  
"I have not."  
  
"You told me there was nothing to eat. You were holding out on me, hoping I'd use the sarcophagus, rather than starve."  
  
"I did not lie to you. When you asked, I answered truthfully. At that time there was no sustenance available."  
  
"At that time." Sam shook her head, trying to make sense of Ptah's words. "What do you mean? Why did sustenance suddenly become available? How?"  
  
"When it became obvious that I and my crew were doomed to remain here, I reprogrammed the ship's naquadah processors to recycle all excess organic materials into sustenance."  
  
"Wow!" Sam was impressed. This technology sounded like something right out of Star Trek. Okay, so the real replicator was a lot slower than the fictional one, and the bland paste probably wouldn't make a very good "tea, Earl Grey, hot," but Sam wasn't about to complain.  
  
She got out of the sarcophagus, relishing the absence of tremors and painful muscle cramps, at the feeling of strength regained. The sarcophagus had made the most of Sam's only meal in weeks. She stroked the bio-bed affectionately. These things weren't so bad, as long as you didn't abuse them as Daniel had. She smirked. Then again, Daniel couldn't drink two beer without getting woozy, no wonder the sarc had made him high.  
  
Her smile slowly twisted into a perplexed frown as she thought about what Ptah had told her. After ten thousand years, what excess organic material was still available on the ship that could be processed into food? Her boots? They were leather, except for the soles, and she hadn't seen them since the sarc had raised her from the dead that first time. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, remembering that excreta would also be a source of organic materials. Still, once reduced, all that wouldn't possibly have amounted to the generous-sized bowl of recycled protein she had feasted on.  
  
Sam knit her brow in concentration. She had the feeling she was missing something obvious, something she should know. She got the distinctly uncomfortable sense that she was hiding something from herself - something far worse than the fact she may have eaten re-constituted boot leather or....  
  
"Uh... Ptah, why did food become available, now?"  
  
"The recyclers were all but empty when you arrived," Ptah explained. "It takes time to reconstitute complex matter efficiently. Bone remains particularly difficult to render into digestible form, and --"  
  
"Ohmygod!" She put a hand to her mouth. "No. Please!" Ptah's body spasmed along its entire length as Sam retched, overcome by loathing and revulsion. The pain it caused in her head drove Sam to her knees.  
  
"Calm yourself, foolish woman!" the Goa'uld chided harshly. "You were not eating flesh. The recycler has completely altered the body, reduced it to its most basic components. The paste bears no resemblance whatsoever to my former host."  
  
Sam fell to all fours, shuddering as Ptah confirmed her suspicion. She wanted to be sick, but there was nothing left in her stomach. The sarcophagus had used the contents of her stomach to repair her starving body. She had eaten another human - feasted on his remains - in order to sustain her own life. "You son of a bitch! You ate everyone on this ship, didn't you?"  
  
"Yes, Samantha Carter. In order to survive, we ate our dead," Ptah answered. "Until I was the only one remaining. My host was sustained for several years in this manner. Now, you have eaten my host, so, ultimately, you have also eaten my crew."  
  
"No!" She pounded the floor with her fist. "I didn't know!"  
  
"What is wrong with you?" he demanded. "Do you still cling to primitive superstitions about the body? Would your dying of hunger change the fact that the others are no more? Do you not understand that there is no more matter in the universe today than there was at its beginning? All matter is constantly recycled and consumed. You, Samantha Carter, are made up of the constituent parts of all creation, including a great many humans."  
  
It used to be common practice among some primitive humans, Sam knew. Years ago some plane crash victims in the Andes Mountains had eaten dead passengers in order to keep themselves alive until rescue came. Sam had found their actions inexcusable. And now.... She shuddered violently. "You are completely... without morals."  
  
"So you claim," he retorted. "Yet, were you not planning to murder my host in order to be rid of me? How is destroying the living morally superior to consuming the dead?"  
  
She had no answer for him, too aggrieved to even think of one. One word kept repeating itself in her mind, like a broken record: Repercussions. God! She had eaten another human; that should keep her nightmares interesting .  
  
"At any rate," Ptah taunted, "we shall see how well your morality serves you when the hunger returns."  
  
The worst of it was, Ptah was right; there was a dark, purely analytical part of her brain that found no flaw in the Goa'uld's logic - that would undoubtedly find less fault the hungrier she became. It was that same part of her that would have watched SG-10 get swallowed by the black hole on P3W-451. Would she have been able to hold back if she had known what she was eating?  
  
She got to work with a sense of urgency. She had to act now, while her hunger was appeased, while her sense of morality was still more or less intact. Once the pangs returned, and with them, the muscle cramps and the weakness, it would be far easier to rationalize cannibalism, as Ptah and his crew had done.  
  
___________________  
  
  
  
Aldwin down-shifted from hyper-drive and entered into normal space, just at the edge of the star system that held his destination. He would have preferred to come out closer to his objective, but the Tel'tac was threatening to shake itself apart again. Flying the Tel'tac was always exciting, but not because it was fast or maneuverable, for the battered old cargo hauler was neither.  
  
The Tel'tac was fairly dependable when allowed to plod along at its regular sub-light velocity. When it was pressed into full speed, as it was often asked to do, it was inevitably at the expense of some onboard system. This time it was the environmental system. The air had gotten incredibly warm and the atmosphere was nearing toxic. The little ship was barely out of hyper drive when Aldwin raced from the Pel'tac to the engine room. He grimaced at the acrid smell that emanated from the environmental controls panel.  
  
If, behind the Tel'tac, the hyper-space conduit remained open several seconds longer than usual for just one craft, Aldwin hadn't the time to notice. He was far too busy trying to prevent his own craft from killing him.  
  
_____________________  
  
  
  
Sam stood on the shore, on the other side of the ship where the river flowed away from the alien obstacle. In her arms she held an ornately decorated box. Nested within it was the crystal bowl with the remains of Ptah's host. An oil lamp flickered at her feet, its light feeble against the gloom.  
  
"Return to the ship," Ptah urged. "We do him a far greater honor by allowing him to let us live."  
  
"Shut up, Ptah."  
  
"You cannot honor him if you are dead," Ptah insisted. "Remember that you are alive and have strength today because yesterday he shared his body with --"  
  
"I said, shut up!" Sam hissed. "Don't you dare talk to me about honor. He didn't offer his life for us, you took it. You slaughtered a man whose strength and intelligence you exploited for thousands of years, and then you had his body processed and served for dinner."  
  
Ptah fell silent as Sam knelt into the frigid water and gently placed the box into the river. Her hands corralled it to prevent the current taking it just yet. She should say something. Words came to mind: a formula, repeated at the countless memorial services she had attended since her time at the SGC, but the words meant to comfort seemed trite to her, now. She grimaced in grief, wishing Daniel was here. He'd know what to say. His gentle words, spoken with such depth of sincerity would be enough to ease any troubled spirit.  
  
The cold water lapped at her hands, tugging on the little coffin, coaxing her to finish what she had set out to do. "What was his name?"  
  
"You do not need to know that."  
  
"Ptah, I'm doing this," she said wearily. "His name. Please."  
  
"Maahes."  
  
"Maahes." Sam spoke the name softly. "Maahes, I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me. I hope... I hope you've found peace."  
  
She let go, and the river swept the little box away. Sam felt a sudden thrill of panic and she scooped up the lamp. She ran, stumbling, along the rocky shore, her arm outstretched as she desperately tried to keep the box in sight. The swift current carried it into the middle of the river where it abruptly disappeared into the darkness.  
  
Sam stood there a long time, staring bleakly into nothing. The blackness had sided with Ptah, taunting her for her maudlin display, forcing her to admit what her logical mind already knew: that light belonged to life, that death only had darkness. Today, she lived and aspired and fought and hoped. Tomorrow she would be dust, until everything she had been was broken down into their basic elements and reused to build again: everything from stones, to stars, to mortals, to those who would be gods. Ptah was right: everything - all life - was nothing more than matter, reconstituted.  
  
And dreams. From what were dreams reconstituted, she wondered, and to what end? What was the point of existence? Why think at all? Why try to better oneself? Why learn? Why explore?  
  
She sighed. She hated thinking about such things. They were impervious to scientific scrutiny, refused to yield to any equation she knew of. Existentialism was Daniel's forte. How she missed him. If only he'd show up now, she thought forlornly, she'd take his every word as gospel and contest none of it.  
  
"You ever die before, Ptah?"  
  
"I have not."  
  
"I have. Three times."  
  
"What did death show you?"  
  
Sam could almost hear the awe in Ptah's monotone. The irony wasn't lost on her that a god was asking an atheist about the afterlife. She stood in silence, staring into nothing. "It didn't show me anything," she answered somberly. "There's nothing there to see."  
  
The flame of her lamp sputtered, threatening to consign her completely to the cavern's impenetrable gloom. Her feet and hands were numb from the cold water. This was what Sam remembered about dying: that it was a dark, empty place, and cold. Death couldn't be a good place, she reasoned. If it was, why fight so hard against it? She regarded the ship. Was there any point in returning to it? True, there was light within, and warmth, but it, too, was an empty place, and now she wondered if there was really that much of a difference. She thought about the Jaffa, Ptah's First Prime, whose desiccated remains she had found lying on the ground outside the ship as though guarding access to the transporter rings. After ten thousand years in this sterile place, his body was undisturbed.  
  
Ptah had told her how his First Prime had survived until the day his master had gone into stasis. Alone, the Jaffa had chosen what scant dignity there was in dying in the cold and the darkness of outside rather than the warmth and light of the ship, where his body would have been recycled into nothing more than tasteless luncheon meat. Sam knew that when it was time to make the same decision, she, too would choose to leave the ship. At least, if a search party ever did come, they would find her body.  
  
No, she reminded herself sternly. She wasn't going to have to make that choice - not here, on this world, in this hole. This was not her tomb. She had beaten this place, and she determined to keep on beating it. Her father, her team, they were coming for her. All she had to do was hang on. She raised her fist against the perpetual night. "You've had your chance," she yelled defiantly at the planet.  
  
Her voice rebounded off the walls: ~ Chance, chance, chance. ~  
  
Sam's head pounded with the exertion, but she was past caring. "Do you hear me?" she shouted, angry at the wall's retort.  
  
~ Hear me? Hear me? ~  
  
"I am not going to die here!"  
  
~ Die here, die here, die here, ~ the echo mocked.  
  
Ptah shuddered within her. Sam wrapped her arms tightly to her chest, trying to protect herself against the planet's taunts, Ptah's fear, her own. The SGC had stopped calling. Why? Had the thorstone finally buried the Gate? Would she actually die here? Scowling, she turned and made her way back to the ship, but the echo lingered, whispering in her mind: ~ die here, die here, die here. ~  
  
  
  
The lamp's flame expired as Sam stepped onto the transporter, plunging her into an oblivion of total darkness. For a moment, it swallowed all sound, all sensation. If not for the morbid whispers of her own thoughts, Sam could believe that she was already dead.  
  
She brought her hand down onto her wrist device, eager to escape. The rings fell to her rescue from above, surrounded her with light, overwhelmed her with sound. They refashioned her matter into energy, and she ascended through the ship a new creation, a being of light. Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The rings deposited her in the throne room and immortal light recomposed into plain, old, ephemeral matter. The rings fell away from her noisily, leaving a metallic echo that resonated through her newly reformed body.  
  
The experience used to be exhilarating, now it was as mundane for her as a bus ride. She laughed humorlessly. Surrounded by light once again, she wondered at the fuss she had made, earlier. After all, gods, mortals, stars, stones; everything was just light, reconstituted.  
  
"Samantha."  
  
Sam's laughter slowed to a groan and she sagged against the rail. If all of her observations and deductions were correct, then death was just one big, lousy anti-climax to life. She grimaced feeling like the victim of the greatest practical joke of the universe.  
  
  
  
Ptah drummed insistently on her ear. "Samantha! Do you not sense it? Listen."  
  
Sam tensed. Her self-pity momentarily forgotten, she tried to home in on the source of Ptah's unease. She concentrated on the stillness that hung over the room. Then, she sensed it, too.  
  
Silence was relative. The size of a room, the texture of its walls, the presence or absence of living things were all factors that combined to give silence a particular quality. The dynamics of the throne room had changed, and so had the sound of its silence. She sensed something else, too. The hairs rose on the back of her neck. She sensed Goa'uld.  
  
The ribbon device hummed against her palm. She braced herself against the safety rail and turned slowly, her left hand against her chest, the business end of the ribbon device pointing outwards. Her right hand hovered over the transport mechanism, ready to call the rings back up. She froze when she saw the six people crowded around the open sarcophagus. Nobody moved, nobody spoke. Sam knew that this had to be an hallucination.  
  
~~~  
  
Jack hardly recognized the woman standing before him. She was a skeleton, draped in loosely hanging skin wrapped in a muddy, wet garment. Her left eye was sunken, like the rest of her face, while her right eye was blood-shot and bulged within its socket. Her hair stuck out in all directions and her emaciated face was set in a perpetual grimace of pain. And when her back had been turned, Jack had clearly seen the long, thick, quivering outline of a Goa'uld on her spine. His mouth was dry as he tried to speak.  
  
"Carter?"  
  
The frail apparition that stood before them canted her misshapen head wonderingly at the sound of Jack's voice. "Colonel?"  
  
Jack's heart nearly burst. He wasn't imagining her. But, was she really Sam, he wondered. Back at the SGC, they had watched her climb into the sarcophagus. Seeing her now, she certainly didn't have that "fresh out of the sarc" look. Why had she left it? Had it given the snake control, as he had feared? Was Ptah just waiting for them to drop their guard so that he could take them out with the hand device? Jack wiggled the handgun he was pointing at her. "Who wants to know?"  
  
Carter stood motionless, staring mutely. Finally, the glow in her palm died and she dropped her hands to her sides. The over-sized ribbon device slipped easily from her thin fingers and fell in a heap at her feet. Jack relaxed slightly now that she was unarmed, but he kept the gun trained on her. "See?" she spoke into the air triumphantly. "See? I told you." She laughed, in short hysterical gasps that made Jack uneasy.  
  
"Carter!"  
  
Abruptly, her laughter stopped and she scowled. She stepped up, out of the transporter housing and advanced on him boldly, ignoring the gun he had trained upon her. Jack stiffened and held the gun at arm's length in front of him. "Who's there?" he asked sharply, warning her to keep her distance.  
  
She stopped, close enough to reach out and touch the gun's barrel, and looked right past him. Jack followed her gaze to Teal'c who stood with his zat aimed at her chest. The Jaffa looked completely dispassionate, except for the telltale clenching and unclenching of his jaw. She returned her accusing glare to Jack again. "Took you long enough."  
  
Before Jack could open his mouth to speak, Carter turned on Daniel. "He needed you!" she said sharply, pointing an accusing finger at him. "I needed you!"  
  
"And, you are?" Jack repeated forcefully, still unsure whether this was his friend or some Goa'uld trick.  
  
Carter ignored Jack's question, still focused on Daniel. "If you could only have come an hour --" She bit her lower lip. "Yesterday!" she shouted angrily, choking on the word. She turned away from them, exposing her Goa'uld-ed neck. "Or, maybe the day before... I don't know. It's hard to say with this sarc. It wasn't much of a send-off, I can tell you that," she muttered bitterly. "Ten thousand years with this in his head, and all I can say is, I'm sorry?"  
  
What was she rambling on about, Jack wondered. What was so important about yesterday? What would their arriving a day earlier have changed? He stole a glance at Daniel and the rest of his team. He saw the confusion in the younger man's eyes change to compassion. Still, Daniel's hand was on Doctor Fraiser's arm, prudently holding her back from going to the aid of her patient. Beside her, Jacob looked ready to drop his ribboned hand himself. No doubt the more cautious Selmac had a hold on Jacob, as well. Anise studied Sam warily. Jack returned his gaze to Carter.  
  
Carter had stopped talking. Her head was tilted to one side as though intently listening. "No," she answered the unheard query. "They're all either already blended or immune, like me." She snorted derisively. "You didn't really think they'd bring your new host here, did you?" She whirled around abruptly, facing them, the pitch of her voice rising with her anger. "What the hell took you so long?"  
  
Jack smiled grimly. This had to be Carter, talking. A slightly crazed Carter, but Carter, nonetheless. He recognized the fragility of her emotions. He remembered his own mercurial reactions when he'd finally been freed from that Iraqi prison camp. After what she'd been through, he could overlook a little insubordination. All that mattered was that Carter was alive and in control... well, after a fashion. He let his hand holding the gun drop. "We're glad to see you, too, Carter," he said softly.  
  
And just like that, her angry countenance shattered. She started to tremble, so violently that she looked as though she might shake apart. Suddenly Jack was there, his arms around her, stroking her matted hair gently. She buried her face into his shoulder. Her thin fingers entwined themselves in his shirt and she clung, shaking, to him. "Colonel!" she sobbed into his chest.  
  
Jack held her frail, trembling figure as tightly as he dared, unashamed at the spectacle they were making. Not that it mattered, for soon, everyone was crowded around them, reaching out to touch Sam, as desperately in need of reassurance as he that she really was alive.  
  
Looking up, Jack made eye contact with Freya, who had held back, acutely aware that she did not fit into this circle of affection. He smiled at her: a smile of genuine gratitude. The Tok'Ra smiled shyly back at him, the shine in her eyes no more alien than the wetness in his own. She nodded slightly, acknowledging the warmth.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
"I thought you said spaceships weren't your thing," Jack said as he stepped of the transporter dais. He turned to Teal'c. "I specifically remember hearing Daniel say that he didn't even like spaceships."  
  
Teal'c smiled. "He did, indeed."  
  
Sam lay on a divan in the throne room. Doctor Fraiser had her on intravenous fluids and pain killers and had given her a nutritional bar to munch on. Her father had sat with her while Janet had gone to clean the mud of the planet off her body, and the Colonel, Daniel, Teal'c and Anise had explored the ship. The smiles on their faces said they liked what they had seen.  
  
"This ship is a beauty!" Jack enthused as he approached the two Carters. "Lots of death gliders, big, honking space guns. It may be ten thousand years old but this baby hasn't lost a day of market value."  
  
"It has an impressive research and development section," Anise added.  
  
Daniel was ecstatic. "It's like no other Goa'uld ship we've been on before, he exclaimed. "More of a pleasure palace, really. The whole layout is friendly and inviting, closer to the Egyptian belief in Ptah as the giver of all good things. Water seems to be --"  
  
"I concur," Teal'c interrupted the running commentary that Daniel had no doubt given during the entire tour. "Even the crew quarters are generously appointed. I have never been aboard a ship as pleasant as this one."  
  
"Ptah says he's glad your all so impressed," Sam mumbled around her power bar.  
  
"Well, I just had a bath in what is probably the most luxurious bathtub in the galaxy," Janet said, grinning as she joined them from the bathing room. "And that heat lamp is definitely therapeutic. I'll take a dozen."  
  
Sam giggled, luxuriating in the company of her father and her friends. She had missed the easy banter and the teasing, more than any food. She was even happy to see Anise. Janet was pumping the intravenous fluids into her as fast as Sam's body could absorb them, and she could feel her strength returning. Ptah had taken to quivering again: the low, ruminative thrumming that he had practiced when first they had blended. It almost reminded her of a cat's contented purring, and Sam found that the stronger she became, the less she minded it. She felt safe for the first time since the quake that had entombed her.  
  
"I'm curious about one thing," Daniel said. "Sam, do you have any idea what happened to the crew? So far I haven't been able to find any kind of organic remains - no skeletal remains...."  
  
Sam's face clouded and she pulled the half-eaten bar from her mouth. She felt like she was going to be sick. "You okay?" Janet asked, appearing suddenly at her side. "Maybe you should go easy on the solid food, just a little longer," she coaxed gently.  
  
Sam stared at the bar clutched in her hand, her expression troubled. "The, uh..." She swallowed nervously and looked away. "The ship...absorbed them." An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. "So," she said nervously, desperate to change the subject. She found that she couldn't look directly at anyone. "How soon can we get out of here?"  
  
Jack came to her rescue. "As soon as you're up to it, and the sooner the better," he said. "Remember Netu? Well, looks like old Aldwin is at it again."  
  
Sam forgot her unease and stared at the Colonel incredulously. "Tell me you mean he's going to try to ring us up," she said. "Not that it would work."  
  
"Nope, I mean he was gonna try to blow us up," Jack answered.  
  
""Was," being the operative word," Daniel hastened to reassure Sam. "SG- 11 came through with us. They're beaming a radio message into space, ordering him to abort the mission."  
  
"You know the Tok'Ra," Jack quipped. "Always blowing stuff up with no regard for who happens to be --"  
  
"They thought you were a threat," Sam spoke to the Goa'uld within her, deaf to Jack's sarcasm. "You did infest me without permission. But we're okay." She looked up at Daniel. "They've radioed the operative, and --"  
  
What little color Sam had gotten back quickly drained from her face. Panic seeped into her voice. "What! You're kidding, right?....Geez, Ptah, you could've told me sooner."  
  
She looked up at Jack. "We've gotta get out of here," she exclaimed. "Something in the atmosphere of this planet blocks radio transmissions into space. Aldwin'll never get that message."  
  
"Ah...for cryin' out loud!" Jack exploded. He glared at Sam. "Anything else about this freakin' planet we should know about?"  
  
  
  
___________________  
  
  
  
Sam had held up rather well for most of the return trip. The men, using a rope they had secured in places to the cave's walls, had pulled the raft and its occupants against the river's strong current, back to the mouth of Janet's cavern. Sam had sat quietly in the middle of the raft, remembering to breathe as she felt under her the thrum of rushing water against the raft's thin skin. The memory of her first trip down the cold river chilled her to shivering, but her father had his arms around her and so she knew she'd be safe. Then she had seen the beauty of Janet's cavern, and had laughed along with the others when Janet had refused to tell them what name she had given to her special place. She had been suitably impressed with Teal'c Falls, and awed by the chasm that now bore her name. To conserve her strength and hasten their journey, she had meekly allowed Teal'c to carry her wherever it was practical. Even the climb across the ceiling hadn't bothered her that much.  
  
It was the sound that had stopped her. The din from the river had masked it until Sam was right below the mouth of the tunnel. Sam looked up at the mass of perfect spheres, grinding against each other, pressing against the unnatural barrier formed by the Tok'Ra crystals. They looked to Sam like a mob, incensed, resentful, vengeful. Inside the tunnel, darkness stretched beyond her headlamp's weak illumination, the perfect cover for an ambush. She felt dizzy. Oxygen wasn't reaching her brain. Her lungs wouldn't work.  
  
She felt pressure on her chin. Her head was forced to one side but her eyes did not follow the movement. They stayed riveted to the angry walls. She was shaken, hard enough to tear her gaze away. Daniel. He was crouched inside the tunnel, surrounded by the stone hordes. His lips were moving, but the stones, grinding, angry, blocked all sound: the river, Ptah's frantic humming, Daniel's voice. He looked beyond her, his lips still moving, then returned his attention to her. Sam kept her gaze anchored to his face, memorized by the soundless movement of his lips, the empathy in his eyes. Dimly, she remembered that Daniel was afraid of heights. The dizziness abated. Her lungs went back to work.  
  
She felt a presence beneath her. The Colonel, who had been climbing behind her, had managed somehow to get under her. They hung from the ceiling, the Colonel cradling her with his body. She continued to stare at Daniel. His lips had stopped moving.  
  
"There's sky out there, Carter. Wide open spaces. Home. It's not far," the Colonel spoke into her ear. "We should go, now.  
  
Sam nodded as she regained control, and allowed Daniel and the Colonel to help her up into the tunnel. She advanced, bent over in the confining space of the narrow, low ceilinged passageway, and pulled herself along, hand over hand with the rope that was being pulled up slowly by Teal'c and Jacob on the surface. The tunnel seemed to never want to end. As she climbed, she tried not to think about the last time she had been here. She told herself that she was going up, now, not down. She reminded herself that there was light, that she could breathe, that she was not alone, that she was safe. She felt a hand on her back.  
  
"Hear that, Carter? Aldwin's been contacted. He's not gonna blow us to hell after all."  
  
He wasn't? That's good, Sam thought. How did the Colonel know?  
  
"C'mon, Sam," the Colonel said gently. "Ten more meters. Don't stop now."  
  
Had she stopped? When had she stopped? Ten more meters, that wasn't so bad. That meant the surface was no more than twenty steps away, thirty at most. She got moving again, concentrating on counting her steps. She bumped into Daniel. He obliged her by quickening his pace.  
  
  
  
__________________  
  
  
  
Aldwin started his run over the surface of the planet. His sensors weren't picking up any signs of Ptah's ship, the Stargate, or of the Tau'ri's abandoned equipment. He decided that something in the planet's atmosphere must be interfering with his sensors. He would have to perform a low altitude scan. He dropped deeper into the planet's atmosphere, searching the surface with his eyes. His sensors remained blind, and he grimaced in disgust. It was a big planet. It could be days before he found what he was looking for. He glanced at the cargo hold and its contents. Too bad Heru'Ur hadn't any planet killers like the one Aldwin had used on Netu. With just one of those, he'd have finished his business here long ago.  
  
~~~  
  
Heru'Ur was equally disgusted, his sensors, equally blind. The coded message he had intercepted had said nothing about sensor blocks.  
  
His warship could not descend into the planet's atmosphere without compromising stealth, so he was forced to follow and watch the Tel'tac from a higher orbit. The Tok'Ra were good at masking their trails and throwing their pursuers off, which was undoubtedly why they had survived for so long. This stop might prove to be nothing more than an evasion tactic designed to flush him out. Heru'Ur knew better than to show his hand just yet, not until he was sure of his prize.  
  
"Prepare a wing of udajeets," he commanded. "If he drops out of scanning range, pursue at a distance. Do not allow him to arm the weapons."  
  
~~~  
  
Kshatriya hissed in displeasure when the Tel'tac disappeared from his sensors, to be replaced with a wing of udajeets. They had seemingly materialized from nowhere and were in hot pursuit of the cargo vessel. So! He was not the only one to follow the ha'ta'ka to this place. On a hunch, he instructed his helmsman to check for the communications frequency used by Heru'Ur. Presently, he intercepted an exchange between the wing commander and his Mother ship. He smiled grimly when he heard the voice of one of Heru'Ur's Jaffa.  
  
As the udajeets chased the cargo ship into the planet's atmosphere, they, too, disappeared from his sensors, and radio chatter died, mid- sentence. Kshatriya was impressed. The Hidden One had chosen his abode wisely; Amon-Ptah obviously required that the worthy petition him in person, and not from the distant cold of space.  
  
His yacht was no match against a fully armed battleship, but unlike the unwieldy Ha'tak, Kshatriya's yacht could maneuver inside the planet's atmosphere without having to drop his cloak. He could pick off Heru'Ur's udajeets without the war god's knowledge. By the time Heru'Ur came down to investigate, Kshatriya would have already gained access to The Great Maker. The Goa'uld's eyes shone with excitement as he prepared his descent into what, for him, would be the next stage toward Nirvana.  
  
________________  
  
  
  
The communications system came alive the moment Aldwin entered the lower atmosphere of the planet. The formerly quiescent sensors now buzzed with information. They picked up the location of the Stargate and the presence of Tau'ri equipment at two other sites. He picked up something else as well. Aldwin listened carefully to the coded message as it repeated itself over and over. Garshaw had sent new orders.  
  
"Tok'Ra vessel, this is Colonel Luke Jones of SG-11. Please respond."  
  
Aldwin was startled by the voice that interrupted Garshaw's recorded message. For an abandoned planet, this was a crowded place. He put his hand to the communication device. "Aldwin here," he answered.  
  
"Ptah has been neutralized. SG-1, Selmac and Anise have him, and are en route from the ship. Do not, I repeat, do not proceed with your original orders."  
  
So, SG-1 and the Tok'Ra had joined forces once again. He smiled. "Understood, Colonel. How may I assist?"  
  
"Standby, Tok'Ra vessel."  
  
Slowing his craft, Aldwin took up a position over the buried ship. He looked out the cockpit view screen to the clutter below. He wondered what could be the purpose of the large, mostly deflated orange blimp which lay like a beached whale among a jumble of Tau'ri machines. Jacob called them Rube Goldberg devices: bulky machines of maximum complexity that yielded minimal results.  
  
Suddenly a warning sounded from the sensors. Aldwin's eyes widened in alarm. Death gliders, on an intercept course with the Tel'tac, came at him from three sides. His battered old cargo hauler would never be able to outrun them. He slapped his hand down on the communication device, furious with himself at having led Heru'Ur here. "Incoming hostiles!" he shouted the warning to the Tau'ri on the ground.  
  
His fingers flew over the console as he activated an escape pod and lay in a trajectory for it. The Tel'tac shuddered from a barrage of staff cannon blasts. Aldwin dashed toward the pod. The Tel'tac took another hit. The hiss of venting fluids and gasses quickly turned the air acrid and unbreathable. The pod doors closed over him with excruciating slowness. Aldwin watched helplessly as one of the death gliders rushed the Tel'tac, head-on. He saw the glider cannons' deadly glow as they powered up and the Jaffa pilot took aim at the cockpit window. The pod door finally sealed and Aldwin punched the eject button just as the energy blasts slammed into the Tel'tac and blew it out of the sky.  
  
_____________  
  
  
  
Sam emerged from the tunnel and nearly collapsed into Daniel's waiting arms. "You okay?" he asked solicitously. She nodded vigorously, squeezing his arm in thanks. She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, but she was okay. She was out. Out of the ground, out of the thorstone tunnel, out of danger. She pulled away from her teammate's supportive hold and drank in her surroundings. The vast bright openness of the plain was almost terrifying.  
  
"It is beautiful."  
  
"Yes, Ptah," she agreed, her voice thick with emotion. "Freedom usually is."  
  
  
  
Suddenly, the air screamed with the sounds of all hell breaking loose. SG-1 turned to see death gliders fire on the Tok'Ra ship hovering in the distance. An escape pod shot from the ball of fire and streaked toward the Gate. The three gliders changed course and raced toward them.  
  
Suddenly, as if out of thin air, a second wing of death gliders materialized on SG-1's flank, but instead of joining in pursuit, they broadsided the attackers, destroying them. More wings descended from the clouds to join the fight, only to be met by still another that, again, appeared from nowhere. Within seconds the sky was filled with death gliders. The people on the ground were momentarily forgotten as, overhead, the crafts engaged each other in aerial dog-fights.  
  
Sam gasped. "What the hell's going on?"  
  
The Colonel grabbed her by the arm. "Looks like Aldwin brought company. Let's go!" he commanded. Everybody raced for the truck that was parked near the entrance to the tunnel. The Colonel pulled Sam toward the cab and helped her get in. Janet climbed in beside her, while the others piled into the open truck bed. The Colonel gunned the engine and sped toward the Gate.  
  
"There he is," Sam yelled, pointing to the Tok'Ra who was sprinting toward them. One of the death gliders detached itself from the fight and streaked toward him. "Sir!" Sam exclaimed when it looked like the Colonel was not going to alter his course to pick up the stranded Tok'Ra.  
  
"We're not leaving him behind, Carter," the Colonel assured her gruffly. "No matter how tempting. Contact SG-11, tell 'em we need back-up."  
  
Sam pulled the radio out of the Colonel's vest pocket. "Sierra Golf eleven, this is Sierra Golf one-two."  
  
Colonel Jones' voice yelled into the radio over the din of weapons fire. "Good to hear your voice, Major. Don't you fret, we have the bogey in our sights."  
  
Almost immediately, a missile streaked across the sky. It clipped its target on one wing, and the glider flipped through the air, end over end over end, until it slammed into the ground. The Colonel leaned hard against the steering wheel and the truck lurched toward the zigzagging Aldwin. More death gliders joined the chase.  
  
The Colonel barely slowed as he pulled abreast of the Tok'Ra. The tall grass made running difficult. and Sam turned to see Aldwin's stumbling form retreat to the rear of the fast-moving vehicle. Teal'c and Daniel leaned far over the side of the open truck bed, ready to snag the Tok'Ra, while her father and Anise held the two men steady.  
  
"Slow down!" Sam commanded the Colonel worriedly. But, at that same moment, Teal'c extended his arm, and Aldwin reached out and grasped it firmly. Daniel leaned over and caught Aldwin by his belt as the speeding truck yanked the Tok'Ra off his feet, and he and Teal'c hauled him up over the side. "They've got him," Sam yelled. Her hand clasped the Colonel's shoulder. "Go, go, go!"  
  
The Colonel pressed the gas pedal to the floor and sped toward the Gate. Death gliders screamed past the truck, headed for the Stargate, intent on cutting them off. Ptah drummed insistently on her ear.  
  
"What is happening?"  
  
"The Goa'uld," she said "They must have followed Aldwin here, and now they're fighting over who gets us."  
  
"Which Goa'uld?" Ptah asked.  
  
"Don't know. Bad ones," Sam said with feeling.  
  
The chaos around the Gate came into view. Dust and smoke rose around the earth-moving machines that SG-11 was using as a bunker as they tried to defend the Gate. Death gliders were firing on each other and at SG-11, and Colonel Jones was firing back with an anti-aircraft gun - brought here as insurance in case Aldwin didn't obey his new orders. Jones was bringing down gliders as quickly as the gun could be reloaded.  
  
The wormhole exploded into existence and Doctor Ryder rushed through to alert the SGC. Lieutenant Harris jumped out from behind a payloader and waved wildly at them. Colonel O'Neill headed the truck toward him, but Harris waved them through before returning his attention to firing on the approaching gliders. The Colonel sped past him.  
  
A death glider swooped low, putting itself between the truck and the Gate. The Colonel kept going. Sam hissed and reflexively sank back into the seat as the Colonel and the Jaffa pilot engaged in a game of Chicken.  
  
"A little help, Luke," the Colonel said through clenched teeth.  
  
"He will kill us all," Ptah drummed Sam's ear in alarm.  
  
"No he won't," Sam assured him. Come on, come on! she thought nervously, willing the Jaffa to move, knowing full well that the Colonel had no intention of stopping.  
  
Suddenly a missile pierced the death glider's flank. The force of the blow shoved the aircraft aside. It erupted in flames. Sam felt herself being pulled down as Janet threw herself on top of her.  
  
The Colonel held course, driving right through the inferno. The cabin filled with light. Dad! Teal'c! Daniel! Sam pushed ineffectively against her human shield. Janet, equally worried about their unprotected teammates, got off Sam to look out the rear window into the truck bed. "They're okay," she yelled.  
  
Sam sat up to see for herself, but the Gate caught her eye. It was coming up too fast, and the Colonel was not slowing down. She tore her eyes from the looming Gate to look at him. The Colonel was focused, determined. Sam's eyes widened in alarm. He wouldn't.... He couldn't.... He was!  
  
The ground exploded dangerously near the truck, again and again, as a glider strafed them, trying to herd them away from the Gate. This time, it was Sam who pulled Janet toward her, as the passenger door window shattered.  
  
"Hold on!" The Colonel warned.  
  
Sam slammed up against him as the Colonel veered sharply to the left. She reached out to grasp the dashboard, bracing for impact. They were going way too fast. At the last second, Colonel O'Neill let up on the gas, letting inertia carry them forward, into the wormhole. Sparks flew as the driver's side of the truck's roof scraped against the curve within the Stargate's circle.  
  
Suddenly, the pandemonium of P4N-285 gave way to the maelstrom inside the singularity. Time stood still in the instant it took them to traverse the one hundred forty light years to Earth, then they burst into the concrete reality of the SGC. Sparks flew again, as the truck roof ground against the Gate in exactly the same spot as it had on the other.  
  
The Colonel slammed on the breaks. The tires shuddered mightily on the metal ramp, then squealed in protest when they hit the smooth concrete floor of the Gate room. The garage door leading into the large corridor under the control room window was rising to accommodate their arrival. Not quickly enough. Sam threw up both arms protectively in front of her face. The truck came to a screeching stop, just as the windshield touched the sill of the rising door. The windshield shattered, and a thousand pieces of tempered glass rained down into the cab.  
  
  
  
Sam sat, frozen in place with her arms still raised in front of her face. Sounds penetrated her catalepsy: the heavy clang of boots running on the Gate's metal ramp, Colonel Jones frantic shout of "Close the iris!" The slicing sounds as the iris sealed over the wormhole, the jarring thud of something large striking it, the silence, when the Gate shut down and the alarms stopped blaring. The Colonel's shaky voice: "Everyone okay?"  
  
"Yeah," she expelled the word in a breath. "You?"  
  
"I'm good," he said, surprised. "Doc?"  
  
Silence.  
  
Sam turned to look at Janet. The Doctor stared straight ahead, wide- eyed, mouth frozen open. Her hair glittered with bits of glass. "That was...."  
  
Still in a daze, Sam turned to stare out the glassless front window. The steel door was gone, revealing a wide, obstacle free corridor. She nodded slowly. "One of our more...."  
  
"Spectacular re-entries," Jack finished.  
  
Both doors opened simultaneously. Beads of windshield poured out of the cab as security forces guards gently freed them from their seats.  
  
_________________  
  
  
  
Kyshatria roared with dismay. He had lost all his udajeets to Heru'Ur's forces and to the Tau'ri. His last udajeet had followed the Tau'ri through the Gate. Kyshatria did not expect to see his Jaffa again. The few humans had defended themselves surprisingly well; what added defenses would they have at home? He slammed a fist down hard on his throne. Cronus and Yu had been fools to allow the Tau'ri to keep their Stargates.  
  
The intercepted radio message said that SG-1 had "neutralized" Amon- Ptah. Kyshatria cringed internally. Was this possible? What indignities had those dogs inflicted upon the Great Maker? Had they killed him?  
  
"Search the area," he instructed his helmsman. If the Tau'ri could find and extract Amon-Ptah, then surely he could find the Goa'uld's hiding place. If Amon-Ptah was no more, then at least Kyshatria could salvage the spoils - quickly, lest the Tau'ri and their Tok'Ra allies return in greater numbers.  
  
~~~  
  
Heru'Ur paced the deck of the Pel'tac, fists clenched in a vain effort to rein in his impatience. His helmsman stood calmly at the controls, awaiting his orders. If he noticed his master's indecision, he made a good show of hiding it.  
  
Where were his udajeets? Why had they not reported back? He had already sent other wings in search of the first ones, and now, all were missing. He stopped his pacing and stared out the view screen at the world below, as though his glare might coerce the planet into revealing its secrets.  
  
Then it struck him: a revelation. The Great Maker, he who had forged both the gods and their majestic instruments of war, would grant an audience to none but his equal.  
  
"Take the ship down," he ordered his helmsman. He looked at his First Prime. "Summon all troops to battle stations." Both Jaffa complied without hesitation. The War-god stood before the view screen, dressed in full battle regalia. He was ready to meet Amon-Ptah on his terms, and to earn, in glorious battle, the right of inheritance from the King of the gods.  
  
As he had expected, the remains of all his udajeets were strewn about over several kilometers. But, not his alone. He turned and glared at his helmsman. "My lord, sensor readings indicate the udajeets were Kyshatria's," he said, anticipating Heru'Ur's query.  
  
The Goa'uld scowled deeply and his eyes glowed with fury. "Find him," he ground out between clenched teeth.  
  
Now that he knew what to look for, the helmsman easily located evidence of the cloaked ship. It was near the Gate but was moving away quickly at the battleship's approach. Heru'Ur returned to sit upon his throne, behind his helmsman. The Goa'uld smiled ferally. "Destroy him."  
  
________________  
  
  
  
Renec sighed in relief as Heru'Ur finally left, empty-handed and completely ignorant of the Great Maker's fate. The war-god had sent out his challenge to do battle with Amon-Ptah. He had searched every inch of the planet's surface, concentrating on the areas where the Tau'ri had abandoned their primitive devices, but they had found no trace of the god-maker. Now, Heru'Ur was no doubt off to lick his wounds by absorbing Kyshatria's holdings into his own.  
  
He grimaced. Apophis would not be pleased. He should have reported what he knew and let the Serpent-Devil deal with this mess. He could tell Apophis that the Tau'ri have Amon-Ptah, but then Apophis would want to know how he knew that. Renec would have to explain, revealing that he had disobeyed his Lord's orders.  
  
A shiver ran up his spine. The Tau'ri were formidable. The few that they were had "neutralized" Amon-Ptah. Before his own eyes, they had fought off two powerful Goa'uld, and had escaped with the Great Maker through the Chaapa'ai. Perhaps there was some truth to the rumors about them destroying Sokar after all.  
  
In truth, Apophis had had little success against the Tau'ri. If, truly, they had defeated the King of the gods, what Goa'uld would be able to stand against them? The next time the Tau'ri engaged Apophis, they would surely destroy him, and Renec felt no obligation to follow the Serpent- Devil into oblivion.  
  
Renec lifted out of the planet's atmosphere into the wide open expanse of space. He pointed his scout ship away from the direction of Apophis' domain, out into the less-populated areas of the galaxy. Let Apophis wonder what had become of his devoted scout. It was a big galaxy; Renec would take a lesson from the Hidden One, and lay low for a time.  
  
***  
  
  
  
The early morning sky was clear and light, though the mountains still hid the sun from view. It was a good time of day to be alone up here. Often, after pulling all-nighters under Cheyenne mountain, Sam would come up to the surface to steal a few minutes of natural light and reset her body clock for a new day of activity. After nearly a month buried under the rock of two planets, Sam's clock was in dire need of resetting.  
  
From the wide ledge that faced out towards the rising sun, she drank in her surroundings through all her senses. She savored the simple luxury of being able to measure time by the movement of the climbing sun, by the changes in light and color, the gradual rise in temperature, the sounds, as the forest creatures retired or stirred, keeping their own schedules.  
  
Sam was also enjoying her first moment of solitude since her return to the SGC. It was ironic: even with Ptah in her head, the two had spent most of their time in silence. They'd had nothing in common except for their plight. As both had grown steadily weaker, the physical act of communication had become more painful, and conversation had been kept to a minimum. Sam had craved company then: to hear the sound of any other voice but her own. Now, surrounded by people, she craved solitude.  
  
For twenty days she had had only Ptah for company, only pain and anxiety to fill the interminable void of her isolation. Now, Ptah was gone, and so, mostly, was the pain. Anxiety remained. It was time for the repercussions.  
  
Since SG-1 had found her, Sam had been overwhelmed with all the people, all the activity, all the noise. And the questions: four days of nothing but questions. Questions from General Hammond, questions from the Pentagon liaison, from the NID, from the Tok'Ra, from Doctor Mackenzie. They made the recalcitrant Goa'uld angry, and she'd had to fight him constantly. The image those seemingly one-sided arguments projected inevitably led to questions about Sam's own mental stability.  
  
Finally, Ptah announced that he would answer no more questions. Without so much as a good-bye, he had withdrawn from Sam's eye and ear. They'd had no choice but to take him out of her.  
  
Because of their ill-formed graft, she and Ptah hadn't needed to endure the Tok'Ra extraction device. Instead, Garshaw and Anise had assisted Doctors Warner and Fraiser, using conventional "Tau'ri" operating procedures. Nevertheless, the operation had not been without complications. Even with the aid of Anise's healing device, Sam had spent another four days recuperating in the infirmary. At least she had survived the ordeal.  
  
Sam picked up a small stone and ran a thumb over it, comforted by its rough, uneven texture. Unlike the perfect spheres of thorstone, the erosion-hewn pebble was chunky, reassuringly imperfect, non-threatening, Earthly.  
  
  
  
When Jolinar had blended with her, the symbiote had physically become a part of Sam's body, so, when she died, Sam had felt Jolinar's loss as deeply as if she had lost a limb. For a time, there had even been real phantom pain, and a deep, lingering grief. But Ptah was different. They had never actually blended, so, when he left, nothing of his had remained in Sam. Janet had assured her of that. What's more, she and Ptah had been at odds the entire time they had been together. Not once had Sam considered him anything other than her enemy.  
  
Was that why she felt so depressed? Because Ptah was dead, and she hadn't even been awake to witness it?  
  
No. Much as she had hated Ptah, she had also believed him - enough to not begrudge him at least the opportunity to redeem himself. After all, the Tok'Ra were descended from the Goa'uld. Ptah was no Tok'Ra, but he was different from any Goa'uld she knew, and he had seemed to care about his slaves - at least when things had been going well for him. There was always the hope that he was reform able.  
  
  
  
Sam threw the stone. Its non-aerodynamic shape wobbled though the air as it succumbed to friction and gravity, and dropped into the pines that hugged the mountainside below.  
  
  
  
Ptah's death just didn't sit right with Sam. The Goa'uld had seemed reasonably healthy, despite his situation. She couldn't help wondering whether Ptah had finally succumbed to Machello's toxin, or to the Tok'Ra's venom. Tears sprang to her eyes. After days of restraint before her military peers, Sam indulged herself in the emotional release.  
  
She had meant nothing to Ptah. He hadn't even acknowledged her before shutting himself away. She'd hated him, true, and was relieved to be rid of him, but, dammit! After all they'd been through together.... But, no, she'd meant no more to him than poor old Maahes, his host of over ten thousand years. The snake was a Goa'uld, all right. He deserved to be dead. She should be happy.  
  
Everyone had been accommodating and sympathetic. Everyone felt they understood the reasons for Sam's behavior. It had all gone into some unofficial file, though, - of that she was certain - adding to the proof that Major Samantha Carter was becoming more alien every day. She wondered how long it would be before someone like Kinsey used it against her, in another attempt to shut down the SGC.  
  
Doctor Mackenzie had diagnosed her as having Stockholm syndrome: that it was not at all unusual for a hostage victim to empathize with her captor. Janet had said that her body was just readjusting to not having to fight the parasite anymore. Teal'c suggested that the warrior in her felt cheated out of fair vengeance. Daniel, of course, blamed the sarcophagus. The Colonel....  
  
Sam chewed her lower lip anxiously. Whatever the reason for her funk, she knew she would get over Ptah quickly enough, but would the Colonel be able to get over what his second in command had become? He'd said he understood, but she had seen that look in his eyes: the anger, the discomfort. He was uncomfortable with her improved abilities with the Goa'uld hand devices, with her anger and apparent grief over Ptah's death. She well knew how the Colonel felt about the Goa'uld. He barely tolerated the Tok'Ra. Now, she had been touched by both. In their field of work, trust was hard-earned and easily lost. The Colonel didn't like surprises. The next time his team came face to face with the enemy, would he trust her to watch their six?  
  
  
  
A familiar tingle ran up her spine, alerting her to Teal'c's nearness. Sam huffed in irritation at the intrusion on her privacy. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, trying to dam her tears, and swiped her face discreetly. Teal'c came and stood quietly beside her, a tissue dangling between his large fingers. She looked up at him, but he was gazing out at the far mountain tops.  
  
Wordlessly, she took the tissue. By the time she had finished with it, Teal'c had sat down beside her on the ledge. For a time, neither spoke. Together, they stared out at the lightening sky.  
  
"It is a difficult thing, coming to terms with what you did," Teal'c said finally, breaking the silence. "But you must not allow this misplaced guilt to consume you."  
  
Sam barked out a bitter laugh. "Nice choice of words, there, Teal'c. Look, if you don't mind, Mackenzie's already absolved me of everything." She picked up another stone, studying it. "And so has everyone else, apparently."  
  
"But you reject their absolution."  
  
Sam scowled. She threw the stone, impatient. Why couldn't he understand that she didn't want to talk about it?  
  
"They cannot absolve you," Teal'c said bluntly. "None of them has ever been forced to eat human flesh."  
  
"Oh, and I suppose the big, bad, First Prime of Apophis has?"  
  
Teal'c's face hardened, but he didn't answer. He just continued to stare into the distance. Sam felt both perversely gratified that she had silenced him, and horrified at her churlishness. Teal'c meant well, but of all that had happened to her, that was the one thing she really didn't want to talk about. And, he was right; none of them were in any position to absolve her of her self-contempt. How could they? She flung another stone into the sky.  
  
  
  
"We came upon a settlement that had been abandoned by a rival System Lord." The softly-spoken words were almost a whisper. "The people were strong. They refused to recognize that the Goa'uld were superior. They fought well, but ultimately they were subdued."  
  
Teal'c's breathing became harsher. "Even after we had defeated them, the people remained defiant. Apophis told them that he was their god, and that they were nothing more than cattle to him. To drive home his point, he assembled the villagers and had their leaders publicly slaughtered, like bulls."  
  
Sam felt herself go cold. She turned to stare at him, her eyes wide as she realized what he was telling her. A myriad of emotions welled up in her: anger, disgust, pity, fear.  
  
"Their blood, his priests sprinkled over the survivors. Their flesh--"  
  
"Teal'c!"  
  
He closed his eyes, and swallowed convulsively, unable to continue. Talk about your repercussions, she thought bleakly. "How do you stay sane?" she pleaded.  
  
Teal'c was sitting in the position for kel-no-reem, his expression hard as stone. "I come from a culture long accustomed to bowing to the demands of cruel gods. My symbiote resets my physical functions. These factors have helped. To a degree."  
  
Sam felt crushed by the weight of Teal'c's admission. Safe in the refuge of her own naive morality, Sam had always considered herself generous towards her teammate's situation - trying to survive long enough to find help in overthrowing the tyrant he was forced to serve. In truth, she had simply avoided thinking about the depth of depravity he would have witnessed - no, participated in.  
  
"You despise me, now."  
  
Ptah's words returned to Sam: "How is destroying the living morally superior to consuming the dead?" She shook her head decisively. "I don't despise you."  
  
"I find that difficult to believe, considering your own sense of guilt."  
  
Sam grimaced. "You're right," she admitted. "What you did was...." She shuddered, unable to articulate the depth of loathing she felt at Teal'c's act. But, she realized, it was the act that she hated, not the person. It had been a cowardly act, perhaps one of many for him, but Sam had never known Teal'c to be a coward. People changed, in Teal'c's case, for the better. "But I don't hate you."  
  
Teal'c nodded solemnly. The sun peeked over the jagged horizon, and the pair turned as one to face it. Sam closed her eyes against the brightness, luxuriating in the feel of the sun's warmth on her face. Maybe it was because Teal'c had done far worse than she, or maybe it was just because he understood, but she felt a lessening of the unreasonable guilt she with which she had saddled herself.  
  
"I, too, seek absolution," Teal'c said. "Regarding another matter."  
  
Sam opened her eyes, to find that the sun had fully risen from behind the mountains. She looked at Teal'c, and waited silently for him to continue.  
  
"I abandoned you to the thorstone on P4N-285."  
  
Sam threw her head back in surprise. "What are you talking about?" A familiar tightness wrapped itself around her chest at the unwelcome memory of being buried alive, of Teal'c holding so tightly to her hand that he had actually broken it, of the look of abject horror on his face before her world went black. "You didn't abandon me," she said breathlessly.  
  
"I failed you," Teal'c said somberly. "I betrayed your trust."  
  
Sam stared at him, incredulous. "Teal'c!" she warned. "Don't!"  
  
"I should never have let go of your hand," he persisted fiercely. "I should have held on at any cost."  
  
"You would have been pulled under with me."  
  
"You would not have been alone," he countered.  
  
"You could have died," Sam exclaimed. Where was this coming from, she wondered. It wasn't like the pragmatic Teal'c to be so unreasonable.  
  
"Do you forgive me?"  
  
Sam shook her head, exasperated. "You did the right thing, Teal'c."  
  
He stared at her until she gave in. "All right." She sighed. "If it makes you feel better, I forgive you."  
  
Teal'c closed his eyes and some of the tension left his face. He opened them again and gazed at her expectantly.  
  
"And, I trust you." she said quietly. "I have trusted you ever since you saved us on Chulak." And neither his legitimate guilt over his past, nor his unreasonable guilt toward her was enough to change that. In a flash of realization, she understood that the Colonel felt the same towards her. She smiled, realizing that she had just been treated to a little psychology a la Teal'c. He was good. If he ever decided to change careers, he'd make a great shrink.  
  
"Thanks, Teal'c."  
  
Teal'c smiled back. "You are welcome."  
  
The two friends went back to watching the fresh new day.  
  
  
  
End  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Epilogue  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Freya stood nervously in the foyer of the Tok'Ra tunnel, awaiting the arrival of her leader. She and Anise anticipated a rather unpleasant first meeting with Persus since their defection, so Freya had insisted that she be the one to bear the brunt of their leader's anger. Her symbiote had readily agreed. After all, she had reminded her host, this whole situation was Freya's doing. She frowned. Anise was going to be mad about this one for some time.  
  
It wasn't fair, Freya thought moodily. True, she and Anise were primarily scientists. Strategy was not their area of expertise, yet, things couldn't have worked out better if the strategists themselves had come up with the plan.  
  
Nevertheless, her punishment stood. The council had moved as one to send her to this forsaken little moon, with no atmosphere, and no Stargate.  
  
The tunneling process manufactured the air she breathed, distilling the oxygen trapped in the moon's calcium carbonate rock. Hydroponics gardens flourished in pools of melted water ice. These tunnels could sustain a hundred people for as many years, but for now, she shared the entire complex with one other prisoner.  
  
Nearly four months had passed since her little escapade to save Major Carter. The effort had paid off. The Major was safe at home, and the bellicose Tau'ri had acquired no new and dangerous weapons with which to harm themselves or others. The Goa'uld were aware of Ptah's hiding place, but that, at least, had not been her fault. Aldwin was probably in as much trouble as she, for leading the Goa'uld directly to the planet and for losing that old relic of a Tel'tac.  
  
And, they had Ptah. It had been a brilliant deception. Freya smiled, remembering:  
  
Garshaw herself had come to the SGC to question Ptah through Major Carter. She had brought a containment vessel with her. It was huge, at least twice as large as the one Freya had brought along with the Goa'uld extraction device. The gold emblem of the house of Thoth was emblazoned on it, and Garshaw had claimed that Ptah would accept the extraction process more readily if he saw it. None of the Tau'ri questioned the older Tok'Ra. The Tau'ri trusted Garshaw.  
  
The extraction procedure was long and difficult, and everyone was far more interested in Major Carter's health than in the symbiote's, so no one, including Anise, had noticed Garshaw's slight of hand as she hid Ptah in a secret compartment of the oversized vessel and released a poisoned Klorrel into its main chamber.  
  
Anise, unaware of the deception, had tried to save what she thought to be a dying Ptah, while Colonel O'Neill had argued vociferously against reviving it. When the Goa'uld died, Garshaw had made all the necessary noises about bringing the corpse back to Vorash. The Colonel, true to form, fought to keep it on Earth for his scientists to study. Garshaw relented at the appropriate moment, and the Tau'ri, none the wiser, got to keep the corpse.  
  
Klorrel had been a prisoner of the Tok'Ra ever since he had been removed from his Abydonian host. The Tollan, though technologically their equals, were naive as young children for believing that the Tok'Ra had ever intended to return Klorrel to the Goa'uld. Freya appreciated the poetic justice behind the exchange: Klorrel, son of Apophis and enslaver of Skarra, dead, and in the hands of the Tau'ri. It was a shame that Daniel and the Colonel would never know.  
  
  
  
The dais hummed as it prepared to receive passengers. As the rings shot up from the floor, Freya tugged self-consciously at her tunic.  
  
Persus and two guards materialized within the transporter's rings. Her ruler's expression was unreadable. Freya approached and bowed respectfully. "Supreme High Councilor," she said. Unless he insisted, he would deal only with her and not with Anise. Persus acknowledged her with a curt nod, pulled from his pocket a tablet, and handed it to her. Freya took the tablet in hands more steady than they felt. What was this? Was she to receive further punishment, written in stone and hand- delivered by the ruler himself? She blinked in confusion when she saw what was written on the tablet, instantly recognizing the script. The tablet contained nothing more than technical information, schematics, numerical codes. She looked quizzically at her commander.  
  
"Do you know what this is?" he asked.  
  
"Yes," she said. "I have seen this language many times. It is rather common in the --"  
  
"Do you think the Tau'ri would know it?"  
  
Freya nodded, relieved that this had nothing to do with her. Persus was simply asking for information. She could do that. "I am certain of it. While I was on Earth, I spent some time in Doctor Jackson's laboratory. He had numerous examples of this script. He called it Phoenician, although the people of --"  
  
"Excellent," Persus cut her lecture off abruptly, his patience with scientists even shorter than Colonel O'Neill's. "Do you remember the minefield in the Tobin system?"  
  
"Of course," Freya answered. "It is where we lost Whallim."  
  
"Apophis has agreed to meet with Heru'Ur there, to negotiate a treaty. The mines have these numerical codes."  
  
  
  
The Tobin system, Freya knew, was the perfect neutral space for such a meeting. The Tobin were extinct, but the automated minefield protecting their planet was still intact. Freya had been to the surface of the Tobin home world twice and had brought back a few devices and artifacts, among them, what she believed was a technical manual for the orbiting proximity mines. The mines had been programmed by the Tobin to target certain energy frequencies, including those of weapons fire.  
  
"We plan to send Selmac and SG-1 in a cloaked Tel'tac, to sabotage the treaty negotiations. You know the Tau'ri better than any of us, do you think that Doctor Jackson and Major Carter would be able to reprogram a proximity mine to this frequency?" Persus reached over and brushed the page-turning device over the tablet. A series of characters in Tobin/Phoenician appeared. "We have an operative aboard Apophis' battle cruiser. During a crucial point in the negotiations, he will transmit a beacon set to this frequency. The mine will seek out Apophis' ship."  
  
Freya studied her superior's face. "I am certain that SG-1 will have no trouble deciphering the code and reprogramming the mine," she said carefully. "However, a single mine will do no damage to a battle cruiser."  
  
"But one exploding against Apophis ship will be enough to arouse suspicion."  
  
"Resulting in war between Apophis and Heru'Ur, rather than an alliance," Freya finished. "Militarily, both these System Lords are very powerful. They could be at war for years." Her eyes widened in admiration.  
  
"They could," Persus agreed. "Or, if he has acquired Ptah's ship and technology, Heru'Ur could make short work of Apophis."  
  
As well as anyone else in the immediate vicinity, Freya thought uneasily. "May I ask why you are sending SG-1 on this mission?" she asked. "I could instruct one of our operatives in this language --"  
  
"There is no time," Persus said. "The meeting between Apophis and Heru'Ur is set for two days from now. Also, Major Carter spent considerable time in Ptah's ship. Should Heru'Ur use anything of Ptah's, she may recognize it. If Doctor Jackson is conversant in this language, then I am confident that SG-1 will be successful. The Tau'ri are cunning, and not nearly as primitive as their level of technology would suggest." The ruler grinned. "And, as a unit, SG-1 appear to have a very high success rate, would you not agree?"  
  
Freya blinked owlishly at Persus. SG-1 was quickly taking on heroic proportions for not a few of the Tok'Ra, especially the human hosts, who tended to romanticize the adventures of the unblended but able Tau'ri. Korah had even composed a ballad about their exploits. For all Freya's rational arguments for why they should disregard direct orders, Anise was convinced that Freya had acted upon her sympathies toward SG-1, and particularly the Colonel's feelings for Major Carter.  
  
Unfortunately for SG-1, their popularity among their allies meant that the Tok'Ra were willing to expose them to increasingly greater dangers. She feared that it was only a matter of time before these living legends became fallen heroes.  
  
"Now," Persus said, breaking into her thoughts. "Take me to see our new ally."  
  
~~~  
  
Persus' guards took up positions at the entrance as the Tok'Ra ruler strode into the room. A solitary figure sat, waist-deep in a pool of water, tending the vines of fruit-bearing plants growing in it. An old man, his face wore the deep laugh lines of one who took much joy in living. He wore his long, thick, snow white hair in a braid, coiled about his neck to keep it from getting wet. He looked up from his work, and beamed at his visitors. Persus bowed solemnly. "Good day to you, Raal."  
  
The old man pressed his palms together and inclined his head. "Good day to you, Persus, Supreme High Councilor of the Tok'Ra. It is good to see your face again, my friend." He lay his small pruning shears onto the reed basket in his lap and reached up to clasp the Tok'Ra's hand. "Please forgive me for not getting up."  
  
Persus returned the old man's smile. "Of course," he said warmly. "Is everything to your satisfaction, here? Are you in need of anything?"  
  
The old man dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. "I lack for nothing," he assured Persus. "The food is to my liking, and I enjoy cultivating the hydroponics beds. Freya's company is quite delightful, though that Anise is somewhat impatient. A curious characteristic in one so long-lived, don't you think?"  
  
Freya blushed. Anise certainly was impatient, even more than usual since her enforced confinement. As for Freya, she had never been accused of being delightful company before, but then, Raal had a very kind and tolerant nature.  
  
"And, how is your symbiote?" Persus asked. "Is he behaving himself?"  
  
"Physically, he is as well as can be expected, given his circumstances. He is quite unhappy, both with me, and with you, but I am able to manage him well enough. He and I have had some rather interesting conversations, however." Raal wagged a finger at the Tok'Ra ruler, his tone, reproving. "We were both under the impression that the Tok'Ra had considerable political influence among the System Lords."  
  
Persus laughed. "And we do," he said lightly. "We simply prefer not to publicize the extent of that influence." The Tok'Ra leader became serious again. "Rest assured, Raal, with the help of our allies, the Tok'Ra will win this war against the Goa'uld. If your symbiote is truly on our side, then victory will come that much sooner. If anyone can convince him to see reason, it is you, Sir."  
  
"I pray that you are right," Raal said fervently. "The Tok'Ra have been nothing but kind to us, Persus. And, whether the influence you exert is little or great, you are my people's only hope. I am honored serve in their deliverance."  
  
Persus bowed his head respectfully before the noble old Luthian. "May I speak with him, now?"  
  
"Take care, Persus," Raal warned. "This Goa'uld is possessed of great intelligence. He does seem to value truth, or, at least, his perception of it, however, his ambition remains undiminished by his experiences."  
  
Persus nodded solemnly. "I will keep your counsel, Sir." He signaled to Freya, who approached, the controller for the Tollan's detachment device on her wrist.  
  
"May I?" she asked the Luthian politely.  
  
Raal gave her a kindly smile. "Of course, child." Calmly, the old man laid his hands in his lap, his eyes serene, not the least bit apprehensive. The light on Raal's chest plate changed from blue to red.  
  
~~~  
  
Finally, Ptah sensed the return of his abilities as Freya released control of the body to him. A glow flashed in his ice-blue eyes. "This host is unacceptable," he began without preamble.  
  
Persus face hardened. "We apologize for the inconvenience, but, when it comes to the Goa'uld, there is a chronic shortage of willing hosts."  
  
"He has no legs!"  
  
"We are aware of that," Persus said calmly. "Just as the host has no doubt made you aware of the reason for his condition."  
  
Ptah scowled. "You cannot hold me responsible for the cruelty of Cronus."  
  
"You created the staff weapon, and, thereby, the means of expression for the Goa'uld's cruelty. Luthia was a beautiful and prosperous world until Cronus ravaged it." Persus gestured to the stumps that were all that were left of Raal's legs. "He took great pleasure in amputating the limbs of all who dared oppose him. We rescued fifty of Raal's people from Cronus's prison on Luthia. Every one of them was missing a limb. Your technology has been used to cause much suffering, Ptah." Persus's face softened as he looked beyond the speaker, to the host. "Raal has a very strong mind, and a good heart. You should consider yourself fortunate to have such a fine host."  
  
"I consider myself a prisoner," Ptah said stiffly.  
  
"By now I should think you would be used to it," Persus retorted dryly.  
  
Fire flashed in Ptah's eyes. "You ask me to ally myself with your cause," he said impatiently. "Yet you treat me like an enemy."  
  
"Our trust must be earned, Great Maker. You claim to hate the policies of the System Lords, and yet, it was your creations that shaped Goa'uld policy. Now, you claim allegiance to the Tok'Ra. Do you really expect us to believe you?  
  
"Yes!" he hissed, indignant. "I am Ptah! I do not lie!"  
  
"Then answer me truthfully. Are you a god?"  
  
Ptah closed his eyes. "Not to you, obviously," the cripple muttered.  
  
He felt hot breath on his face. Ptah opened his eyes. Persus was bent over him. He leaned in close, forcing Ptah to tilt his head far back in order to maintain eye contact, reinforcing the Tok'Ra's apparent superiority. "To whom, then? The Tau'ri? The Luthians? Your long-dead crew?"  
  
Ptah's eyes were incandescent with rage. How dare this ostentatious pretender accuse Ptah of deceit? How far removed was the title "Supreme High Councilor" from "God?" The Tok'Ra calmly held his gaze. Ptah huffed inwardly. Truth!  
  
Amon-Ptah's God ship had died with his crew, ten thousand years ago. His subsequent humiliation, first with Samantha Carter and now, imprisoned in this legless Luthian, had laid to rest all doubt about his lack of Divine Might. But, the Tok'Ra were no less deluded about themselves. These Goa'uld were so wrapped up in lies that they refused even to identify themselves with their own kind. They, too, had lost their way. Resisters of Ra - what kind of name was that for a species? Ra was dead, and no thanks to the Tok'Ra, either. No matter, the Tok'Ra were Ptah's masters, now. He would get nowhere by resisting them. Even if one of the surviving System Lords were to find and extricate him from this place, in his humiliated state Ptah would never be more than a vassal to his rescuer. Slowly, as he fought for control, Ptah's anger subsided. "I am no one's god," he admitted.  
  
The pair studied each other a long moment before Persus finally nodded, apparently satisfied with Ptah's answer. "That is a start." The supreme commander of the Tok'Ra stood, towering again over Ptah. "But we require more. Prove your allegiance to us. Help me find a way to thwart Cronus' hold on the Luthian system."  
  
Ptah arched his brow. "Help...you?"  
  
The Tok'Ra's eyes flashed briefly, and a smile hinted at the corners of his lips. Ptah recognized the ambition in Persus. They were not so very different, he and this Tok'Ra ruler. Whereas Ptah had used science to endear himself to his people, this Tok'Ra used charisma.  
  
"Then will I receive a perfect host?" he asked. "And will I be free of this accursed device?" He indicated the Tollan suppression collar that encircled his chest.  
  
"The Tok'Ra have made many sacrifices in order to achieve their goals," Persus said. "If you truly seek to build a harmonious society for host and symbiote, then you must make sacrifices as well. Raal may be missing his legs, but his heart is complete. You will never find a more perfect companion. Learn kindness and empathy from your host, as you teach us to remove the obstacles to your Utopia."  
  
His Utopia. Ptah smiled bitterly, remembering his conversation with his First Prime, Sen'k, those many years ago. He had prophesied that the lowly worm would one day devour the mighty cedars of Avon-Re. The Tok'Ra and Tau'ri were little more than worms, in his estimation, but Persus was a worm with a glib tongue. He obviously knew how to appeal to the desires of his subjects. He just might prove useful to Ptah's purpose.  
  
"Goa'uld society has stagnated with your absence, Great Maker," Persus said, as though reading his thoughts. "If you were to side with the Tok'Ra, we would most certainly succeed in bringing down the System Lords, making room for new growth, a new, healthy society."  
  
A real-life version of his bathtub, as Samantha Carter had once so tactlessly put it. "A Tok'Ra society," Ptah said aloud. "Where Lord Persus would rule over all. Tell me, are the indomitable Tau'ri aware of your plans?"  
  
"You hold us in contempt because we are few and because we make alliances with so-called lesser species," Persus said calmly. "It is also true that the Tok'Ra practice deception. I would go so far as to say that we are masters at subterfuge. I make no apology. We would not have survived otherwise. However, there are no secrets amongst ourselves. As to the Tau'ri, you and I both know what the alternative is, for them, and for the rest of the galaxy. The Tok'Ra are far more sympathetic to your ideals than any Goa'uld presently in power."  
  
Finally! Ptah's heart soared. He recognized the truth in the Tok'Ra's words. Persus was confessing that Ptah's ways were right, that his cause was just. The Tok'Ra was admitting that he was indispensable to them. Perhaps he could use the Tok'Ra to build his perfect society - his Utopia, as Persus called it. In time, he would also clear away the scourge of deceit, but for now, given his circumstances, perhaps it was a necessary evil. Ptah made his decision.  
  
"I will require equipment. And skilled and intelligent workers. I have no use for the dim-witted or the indifferent. Do the Tok'Ra and their allies have such resources?"  
  
Persus bowed slightly. "You will have the supplies you need. As to personnel, for this particular operation, Freya should be sufficient. She is both skilled and intelligent, and," he turned and gave the female a pointed look as he spoke. "I believe you will find her to be highly motivated. After all, we have her to thank that you are still alive." The female flushed with embarrassment at the thinly veiled reproof.  
  
"We will supply you with whatever is required to achieve our mutual goals," Persus continued, turning his full attention back to Ptah. "Show us what you truly hold dear. In time, you may well earn our respect and gratitude, and the right to walk among the Tok'Ra as our brother. Good day to you, Ptah."  
  
Without awaiting a reply, the Supreme High Councilor turned to leave. Freya raised her arm and pressed a triangle on her wrist pad. The light went out on Ptah's chest plate, indicating that host and symbiote were no longer bound by the suppression device. Freya acknowledged them both with a quick nod before turning to hurry after her leader.  
  
  
  
"Interesting conversation," Raal said aloud, his tone as good-natured as ever. "I am happy that you see the wisdom of working with, rather than against us." Automatically, Ptah made to shut the human out. "Ah, ah, ah!" Raal reproved the Goa'uld gaily. "If you are to embrace the Tok'Ra, that is a bad habit you must learn to correct."  
  
"Not that I could shut you out anyway, old man," Ptah grumbled. He was both impressed and unnerved by the Luthian's mental prowess. The transmission of the body's control between the two minds was instantaneous and effortless, but keeping and holding that control was as tricky to Ptah as trying to keep a grasp on liquid mercury.  
  
Raal tapped his skull proudly. "Now you know why Cronus was so put out with us. We Luthians are a strong people, like the Tok'Ra and the Tau'ri."  
  
Ptah grunted in reluctant agreement. He picked up his pruning tool and went back to tending his little water garden. He wondered absently how Samantha Carter was doing. "If your mind is so strong, why do the Tok'Ra insist on muzzling us with a suppression device?" Ptah tapped his chest with his little pruning scissors, resentful of the weight of the chest plate he had been harnessed with since his forced blending with Raal.  
  
"Patience, ancient one," Raal soothed. "The Tok'Ra are simply taking no chances. The suppresser will come off, in good time."  
  
Ptah sighed wearily. Patience. Time. Surely no one was more aware of, more enslaved by those two concepts. "Trust me, Raal, I am nothing if not patient." He reached out with his pruning shears, and snipped off an unproductive sucker from the vine. "Now, tell me about Luthia."  
  
End  
  
  
  
Acknowledgements and the plea for feedback:  
  
I would like to thank the Academy.... oh! erm,... Sorry, right fantasy, wrong group.... "/  
  
Okay, this behemoth didn't write itself ya know. I had plenty of help, and I almost feel guilty about calling myself the sole author. Many thanks to George Halford, USArmy Corps of Engineers for all his technical and practical advice about the Engineer Corps and how they might operate in my fictional world.  
  
Thanks to Dawn O'Connor for her expertise with the Tethersonde Meteorological Balloon.  
  
Thanks to Kat, for catching those glitches. ")  
  
And, my heartfelt appreciation to you fellow writers at Badfic. More specifically, to Abby, Bead, Lisa, Sharakh, Starry and TCR for your faithful comments, corrections and encouragements throughout the lengthy ordeal. To Lady Elysium this fic's chief engineer, to Orac, its geologist, and to Rodlox, its plucky comic relief. ")  
  
You are such a great resource! You took what would have been a mediocre story and helped turn it into what it is - which, I think, is pretty darn good reading. Thank-you!  
  
Now, it's your turn.... C'mon, you know I waaant it.... FEEDBACK!  
  
Gracie 


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